


Stand Up For Us

by ScienceGeeky



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Ancestor-Era, Ancestors, F/F, F/M, Happy too, Humanstuck, It's not all sad, Look before the chapters in the notes for any additional tags, Not till the end, Sad, Tags at the beginning of chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 00:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 85
Words: 331,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1113172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScienceGeeky/pseuds/ScienceGeeky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Disciple, before she was the Disciple, was Dianna Leijon, a short girl with a crush, two best friends, and a hell of a lot to prove to her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Daffodils

**Author's Note:**

> Before reading, please take this into account: Dianna is a scared, confused, hormonal sixteen-year-old writing in a journal that is, as far as she is concerned, private in an attempt to figure out who she is and how she fits into the world. In other words, she is above all an unreliable narrator. 
> 
> Handy little guide: Hannah is Handmaid, Sumner is Summoner, Simonn is ψiioniic, Sigmun is Signless, Dianna is Disciple, Neolla is Neophyte, Mariek is Marquise, Patrik is E%patri8, Grantt is Grand Highblood, Orivll is Orphaner, and Candas is Condesce. The funny spellings are the result of an argument with my sister about the six-letter thing. Much thanks to those baby-name sites. 
> 
> Much thanks to my wonderful moirail Slytherinpirate for the title!

22 August 1611

Today was my sixteenth birthday! I left home earlier than normal today and went to Sigmun and Dolora’s house, like every day. I wasn’t sure they’d remember, but they did! Dolora baked a little cake with icing and it was simply delicious. Simonn gave me a green hair ribbon that’ll be really nice to use to tie back my hair when it’s a sticky, frizzy mess, Sigmun gave me a beautiful pen, and Dolora gave me this journal. I like keeping a journal; I think I’ll keep it up. 

There’s one more thing: Sigmun gave me flowers. He came from the clearing right before Dolora set out the cake with this messy bunch of wildflowers. His hair was messy, and he wasn’t wearing shoes, and his pants were too short because of how fast he’s growing but…he was the most handsome I’ve ever seen him. So I look the flowers like a glass vase and I…I kissed him, right on the cheek. He blushed so red! Is it possible to fall in love with someone you’ve known since you were seven? I certainly think so. 

Mother forgot my birthday again. I don’t know what I was expecting. 

 

23 August 1611

He brought me flowers again. I wonder if he intends to keep doing this? Sometimes I catch him looking at me; maybe that’s why? 

Does he love me? 

Simonn didn’t come by today; I think he’s with his parents. It’s not fair to be jealous of him, but his parents love him, and…I wish mine did. 

 

24 August 1611

He brought me flowers again today! Sigmun just has the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen and it is far too endearing to be healthy for me. He just makes me feel dizzy, the absolute sweetheart! Dolora saw today and she gave him this look. I know she knows something of this, just from being his mother and my…I don’t know what. 

Who is Dolora to me? She’s not at all like Mother, but I don’t really know what a mother is supposed to be to someone except that I don’t think a mother is supposed to be like mine. Dolora keeps an eye on me and knows me almost as well as I know myself and she tells me to eat lunch even though I’m never hungry. I suppose…like an aunt? Mother’s never taken me to see any of my other family (assuming I have any), so I don’t know what sort of relationship one ought to have with one’s aunt. 

I don’t know what Dolora is to me, but she’s amazing. 

 

25 August 1611

Mother says I have to do the shopping because she’s busy. What on Earth could my mother possibly be busy with during the day? We live off Father’s job, and she never cooks or cleans or anything but drinks. I don’t know why she’s doing this. 

Anyways, I’ve got to run because I have to buy something for dinner tonight. I’ll do proper shopping tomorrow. 

 

26 August 1611

The market was so busy today! It took me quite a while to get everything I needed, and now it’s very late and I’m exhausted. I’ve been up late for three or four nights in a row now and I want to get more sleep. Maybe I’ll write more then. 

 

27 August 1611

Flowers again. This time he put in some daffodils (my favorite) from Dolora’s garden. He has the most gorgeous smile! And he’s still not wearing any shoes; he’s shooting up like a weed! I don’t think he knows what that smile does to me. It makes my insides squirm like a million worms and my face warm as the sun. 

Maybe it’s good he doesn’t know what. I’d just die if he knew what I’ve been feeling for him, not the least of which because Mother might kill me. 

 

28 August 1611

Today Mother told me I’d best be married before I’m eighteen or she’d leave me here alone. She’s been wanting to leave for a long time to go with Father when he travels, because he travels a good deal. I don’t want to get married now! The only man I would even consider marrying is Sigmun. I suppose if I had, if someone was going to die if I didn’t get married and I couldn’t marry Sigmun, I’d marry Simonn. But Mother wants me to marry someone like Patrik, and I most certainly do not want to marry him! He’s the rudest, most condescending person I know! 

It is times like this when I remember that she is not my mother by birth. 

 

29 August 1611

I’m falling head over heels for Sigmun. I might as well own up to it in this little book. I really like him, different than Simonn or anyone else I’ve ever met. It’s like when I met that boy Peter in the village, only much worse. I feel like I’ve fallen out of a tree in the best way possible. It’s been getting worse for about half a year now. Is this love? 

 

30 August 1611

These flowers are starting to pile up in my room. I don’t have to share with anyone since Mother and Father don’t have any blood children, so I can keep them. I sneak outside to the well at night to refill my glass to keep them alive. They die in about a week, though…I guess that’s why he keeps bringing me flowers. 

He’s so adorable, though, like that. I always come over at the same time, give or take, and every day he emerges from the woods with his messy hair and he’s all red-faced and holding this messy bunch of flowers and he’s got that earnest little smile and…I just melt inside. I feel so silly, but I almost can’t help it. I feel like a wobbly mess when I look at him. 

I can’t get like this. Mother was, and I swore I never would be. 

 

31 August 1611

To Do:  
Dress patterns (better-fitting shift)  
Errands  
New shoes  
Learn to cook Yorkshire pudding  
Nice flowers for Sigmun  
Stop thinking about Sigmun!!!

 

1 September 1611

We explored more in the woods today, not really expecting to find anything, but we found this little stream I’d never seen before! We followed the stream a bit and it turns out it runs right by the first clearing we ever found, the one with the pine tree in the middle. And it seems to be helping some berries grow, which is excellent. We picked some berries to bring back to Dolora, and Sigmun picked some and held them out to me like those flowers and I swear he’s just the sweetest boy I’ve ever met! 

This is so frustrating! I don’t want to let some love like this ruin my life! I’m trying to stop thinking about him, but failing horribly. His eyes, just the color of chocolate cake I can never afford that turn scarlet in the right sort of light, and his--

No, no, no. NO. I won’t let that happen! 

 

2 September 1611

We stayed inside today because it was raining and Dolora taught us how to make her version of Yorkshire pudding, with two and a half cups of fat drippings and butter. I really like that she doesn’t just teach me to sew and cook, or just Sigmun and Simonn how to read and write. Mother doesn’t know I can read and write, of course. She’d be horribly angry with me, because she can’t. 

Anyways, we had pudding for lunch. Dolora was eating all nice with a fork and knife, and Simonn ate very fast because he does that because of all his siblings, and Sigmun ate double anyone else because he’s shooting up like a weed, and I ate very carefully because I could feel Sigmun watching me and I didn’t want to spill all over myself with him there. 

I need to talk to Mother about getting new shirts. Since I started growing sometime in the past year, I’ve grown in more ways than one and my old shirts don’t fit too well anymore. 

 

3 September 1611

I give up. I’m in love with him. 

 

4 September 1611

I wrote a draft of a letter I might give him to tell him. But it’s absolute rubbish and I ended up throwing it in the fire (so Mother doesn’t find out I can write). And, I mean, he brings me flowers, and though I’m certainly not pretty or anything special, I suppose…I suppose he likes me. But I can’t love him. Mother would kill me if I married the illegitimate son of the village witch. If I let him know I love him like that, he’ll want to be together. In a few years he’ll want to get married! I can’t deny that I want to marry him, but I…I just can’t. 

I can’t tell him. 

 

5 September 1611

I was early today. Dolora was sipping her tea and I said hi like I always do, and we talked a little (because Dolora is very interesting to talk to, and so much nicer than Mother) and she told me that Simonn and Sigmun were upstairs because it was windy out. What a silly excuse! So I climbed the stairs and I was about to go in when I heard them talking. I know it’s horrible (they’re my best friends!), but I may have sort of eavesdropped on them. Just a little. Here’s what I heard. 

“But…she’s gorgeous, and clever, and funny, and…ugh!”

“You like her,” Simonn teased. 

“Shut up!”

“You do. You practically just said so yourself, stupid.” 

“When?” 

Simonn put on a voice and said, “She’s gorgeous and really clever and really funny…”

“Shut up,” Sigmun whined. 

“So do you like her or not?” 

Sigmun didn’t say anything for a moment. “Alright, fine. I like her. A lot.” 

“Let me guess. Since we turned sixteen and started growing up?” I’m going to get Simonn for that. 

“Don’t be an arse. It’s not just--whatever it is that happens to our minds when we get older and want to sleep with everyone we look at. Since we were fourteen.” 

“You’ve got it baaaaad.” 

“Stop it!”

“So what’re you going to do about it?” 

“Nothing, obviously. She doesn’t like me back, isn’t it obvious?” I winced. I couldn’t help it. 

“Not really. I think you’re being an idiot.” 

“Am not!”

“Yes you are!”

“Look, she’s supposed to be here.” 

I chose that moment to knock on the door and say, “Hi, Sigmun, Simonn!”

“C-Coming!” Sigmun stammered. He opened the door and Simonn was sitting down and leaning against the wall with this smug look on his face and I couldn’t help but ask. “What’re you so smug about?” 

“Sigmun, would you care to tell Dianna exactly why I’m so smug right now?” 

“No, shut up.” 

“Fine. Then I shall remain mum on the topic.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Never mind, then. My goodness.”

“I’m sorry,” Sigmun said, wincing. “I’ll tell you later.”

“If you say so,” I relented, because his face was so red I thought he’d faint. Simonn gave a snort of sarcastic laughter. 

“Are you sure, Siggy?” Simonn taunted. I decided to save Sigmun from properly fainting. 

“It’s not so windy now. C’mon, let’s climb the tree!” 

“Who said it was windy?” Sigmun asked. 

“Dolora did, when I got here. She was having tea and everything.” 

“Oh.”

So we went to the clearing with the huge pine tree and raced up to the top. I feel like that’s something most sixteen-year-olds don’t do, but I love climbing trees and so do Sigmun and Simonn. 

I suppose that settles it. He likes me, and doesn’t think I like him. 

I’m not sure how long I can keep this up.  

 

6 September 1611

We go into the village some days, now. The three of us just sort of wander around the market and the prettier buildings of our little village. Sometimes we also talk to Hannah or Neolla or Mariek or Sumner or sometimes Patrik, now that he’s not so rude. Sometimes Candas and Orvill and Grantt come from the city, but I don’t like them so much. They’re a little scary. 

It’s really nice, the market. Simonn’s always cynical and silly and poking fun at everything, and Sigmun is always laughing along and telling his own jokes and silly stories and our inside jokes and…I really like those sorts of days. 

Sigmun’s had bumps mine more often than you’d expect. It can’t be a coincidence. 

 

7 September 1611

Mother said I had to stay home today and she didn’t even bother to come up with some lie of a reason. And that’s why I came up with my lie. I told her I have a job to pay for my dowry. The only reason she approved was because she wants me married to someone rich, like Patrik. So…now I have an excuse. And I can tell her I’m visiting my girl friends on weekends. Which I usually am; since most of my friends in the village are girls and we mostly go into the village on weekends, I usually visit with Hannah and Neolla and Mariek on weekends.

Anyways, Mother believed me and I made it to Sigmun and Dolora’s house. 

 

8 September 1611

We had a plan for what we were going to do today and it was really fun! 

When I got there, Sigmun had flowers like he does and I took them and kissed him on the cheek (like always) and Simonn just started laughing and laughing and laughing. And since we were about to go, I had to go inside and ask Dolora for a cup of water to put the flowers in. She gave me this look and I knew she knew about the flowers. 

It was early when we set off into the woods. Sigmun found an old map of the forest with an old house marked on it, and we were going to try to find it. Dolora said her Uncle George wanted to be a cartographer, so he practiced on the woods. Anyways, we were going to find the old house and I was excited! It took hours, but we found it. It’s not much of a house anymore, though. It looks like it was burned down. I wonder what happened? 

We ate lunch there and guessed at the past of the house before heading back. It’s strange to think that someday someone might find Sigmun and Dolora’s house and wonder the exact same thing. 

 

9 September 1611

Mother sent me to do the shopping today. I already forgot she thinks I work in the village. This could get me in a lot of trouble before long because I go to Sigmun and Dolora’s every day to spend time with my best friends. I’m not giving that up because Mother thinks it’s wrong somehow. They’re my friends! It’s not up to Mother who I decide to be friends with! 

Anyways, I left early and went to the market by myself today. What fun. 

 

10 September 1611

Mother’s trying to write to father. She can’t really write much at all, so I’m not sure what exactly she’s trying to get across. But that’s why she wanted an envelope. I guess she misses Father, but why’s she trying to write to him when he’s probably out on the ocean somewhere? The letter won’t reach him until he’s back home (which is in about two months). On the other hand, what do I know? The only boy I’ve ever properly loved has never left town for more than two days at a time. 

 

11 September 1611

I had a horrible nightmare last night. I dreamed that it started snowing early and the snow buried us in and Mother died because we didn’t have enough food and Father never came home for me. I nearly always remember my dreams, good and bad, and I hate it. They’re never just normal; they’re always confusing and scary and I spend hours mulling them over, trying to pick sense out of them. It never works. A few of my dreams are out-and-out nightmares; those usually happen when I’m sick or one of my friends is sick or Father comes home. And a few of my dreams are just very good dreams, but I’d rather not write about those. It’s much too embarrassing. 

 

12 September 1611

Mother is getting more and more irritated that I never say home. I told her I’m just going to visit friends and to work, but she knows that my two best friends are boys and that we used to meet in the woods. The woods are much more interesting than the market! And anyways, we can’t very well gather at Simonn’s house because of all his siblings, or at my house because of Mother. 

I don’t know what her problem with me having friends who are boys is. On the other hand, she has very strict ideas in her head about what men and women are supposed to do. It’s another one of her old-fashioned ideas. My friends are lucky. Since he’s the oldest of his family, Simonn’s parents don’t really worry about him too much and he can do just about anything he likes. Dolora (of course) doesn’t mind the three of us meeting up every day and I am very glad for that because when it’s cold or snowy or rainy or a million degrees out, we can sit inside instead of trying to find proper shelter in the forest. 

Mother tried to make me stay home today, but I told her I’d lose my job if I missed even one day of my job that I’m very vague about. I need to come up with a more specific lie before she catches on. 

 

13 September 1611

I think I’ll say I’m working at the seamstress’s. They’re at least three in the village and they all have a few girls working for them. I don’t know, I’ll tell her I do the buttons or something. 

We came up with an idea to build a bridge across the river that runs past the mill and through the woods. It’s between a mile and a half-mile walk and there’s no way to cross it without a bridge. The closest bridge is five miles away and we can’t walk that far every day. So we sketched out some ideas, figuratively speaking, and I think we’ll have something put together by November. I certainly hope so! 

 

14 September 1611

Mother believed me, about working for the seamstress. I can’t believe it. I feel horrible about lying to Mother, but I just want to spend time with my best friends; is that really too much to ask for? 

I wonder who Mother’s friends were when she was my age. She lived in the city and she was quite rich and she went to a girl’s school. That much I know. But I don’t know much else. Mother doesn’t seem to trust me. Maybe she thinks I’ve been corrupted. 

I don’t really care that much. 

 

15 September 1611

Today it was raining, so we sat inside and just…talked about things. What else are best friends for? Although…especially Simonn, but they both try to act invulnerable all the time. We mostly talked about silly stuff and dared each other to do stupid things. But we talked some about our families, and how Simonn feels responsible for his siblings, and how even though Dolora’s wonderful Sigmun wishes sometimes he had a father. He says he doesn’t, but I’m sure he remembers being abandoned. I remember things from when I was three. And he remembers enough to be petrified of thunderstorms. 

They already know about my family. They know how Mother’s not my blood mother and Father’s not my blood father. They know that my parents don’t love me, and they know some of who my blood family is, but I haven’t told them everything. I’m not sure they’d believe me, anyways. I hardly believe it myself! I wouldn’t if it wasn’t for the fact that Mother told me before she hated me. 

 

16 September 1611

I can’t believe it’s taken me nine years to wonder this. I feel like such a bad person! Dolora said she had always wanted to be a mother, so why did she never marry? She’s definitely pretty enough to. I ought to ask her sometime. Sigmun might’ve had siblings in another life. 

I wonder what it’s like, having siblings. I don’t even have a father, not really. I just want to know what it’s like to have more people around the house. Simonn would tell me I’m not missing anything (and he has told us, several times), but just one brother or sister would be kind of nice, I think. I guess it depends. 

 

17 September 1611

I ask Dolora about marrying and she told me to sit down. So I did, but I was a little confused because what on Earth was it? And she told me that she would never marry because she can make her own money and will never love a man, and I asked her why, there must be someone, and Dolora said yes, there was, but she was a woman. 

I didn’t know women could love other women like women love men. I guess you learn something new every day. I’m not sure why she asked me to sit down. But…she did say “was”. I wonder if the other woman died or maybe loved men? I still don’t know why I’d have to sit down. 

Maybe it’s something to do with religion? I’m not sure, really, because Mother never took me to church. But it does seem to be the reason for lots of things. 

 

18 September 1611

I’m actually trying to recall what Mother’s told me about her religion. I follow her in that I believe in God, but I simply don’t know enough beyond that to say what my religion is. I guess I believe in being kind to people? Is that religion? I don’t know. 

I wonder what people are like when they’re born. Mean or kind or empty or…I don’t know. I wonder about people a lot. I really ought to find some books on the subject. I’d bet anything Dolora has some. She has everything, from Sigmun’s favorite romance novels that he doesn’t know we know he likes to long, complicated books in Latin on things like physics. Her literature books are amazing! I love theater most of all. I’d never tell anyone, of course, because Mother says theater is a sin, but I love plays! I went to a play once with Sigmun and Simonn and it was amazing! 

 

19 September 1611

I mentioned how much I love theater and Dolora said we can go see A Midsummer Night’s Dream in two weeks, on the second! Dolora and Sigmun and Simonn and I. I can’t wait!

Sigmun’s been bringing me flowers every day since my birthday. One of these days Mother’ll notice, but honestly I quite like them. There’re so many flowers in my room that I think I’ll have to get rid of some soon. Maybe I’ll press them. That would be nice. 

 

20 September 1611

When I got to Sigmun and Dolora’s house today, Simonn was facedown on the couch and groaning, and when I asked what was wrong, Simonn said, “He likes someone.” 

“Who?”

Simonn groaned again. “Hannah.” 

“Aw, sweet,” I said. 

“And I’m trying to persuade him to tell her.” 

“She doesn’t like me, obviously,” Simonn said. 

“I think she might!” I sadi. “Come on, it’s not as bad as all that.” 

“Yes it is,” Simonn said. 

“My crush doesn’t like me back, and I’m alright,” Sigmun said, and my heart clenched. I can’t tell him. 

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Simonn said. “Let’s do something.” 

“Let’s go look at the leaves!” Sigmun said. 

“Yes, they’re lovely when they’re starting to change,” I said. 

“They’ll be gone before long,” Sigmun said. 

“Cheerful,” Simonn said sarcastically. 

And I smiled, and Sigmun smiled, and we all went to the forest to see the leaves. 

 

21 September 1611

It was Dolora’s birthday today. She probably didn’t think we’d remember or care. But it was also her day for running errands, and she told us she’d be in the village all day. So we had plenty of time to bake a cake. 

I suppose the cake would’ve been a better idea if any of us could actually bake, but we had a recipe for cake that was made with just a little bit of sugar (we don’t exactly have a lot of expensive food, Dolora being the midwife and all) and we figured that if you follow the recipe, what can go wrong? 

As it turns out, a lot can go wrong. We got all the ingredients and mixed them up, but Simonn forgot a cup of flour so we had to add it later and I don’t think it quite mixed through. Then Sigmun couldn’t find the right pans, and we spend almost a half-hour searching. When we finally had the cake in the oven, Sigmun used a towel to adjust how the pans were sitting on the fire and it caught on fire, and I had to stamp it out because I was the only one still wearing shoes. 

We finally had the cake out of the oven and it was only a little burned and the insides were only slightly raw. Simonn and I mixed up some sort of frosting while Sigmun searched the house for a good candle, and even though the sugar wouldn’t mix in we frosted the cake as best as we could. Then we lit the candle and waited for Dolora to come home. 

When she did, we were all in Sigmun’s room like always and I heard her drop something that I hope didn’t break. She called for us to come downstairs and she asked us if we’d made the cake and we said yes and I apologized for the towel and all. She told me there was nothing to be sorry for and cut it into pieces and we all ate that messed-up cake, even though it didn’t taste very good, and Dolora looked so happy I thought she’d start glowing. 

 

22 September 1611

I need to run errands soon before Mother starts yelling at me again. I’m never good enough for her. I talk back to her and I’m ugly and I’m much too energetic all the time like some sort of ten-year-old boy, and I’m not interesting enough and I’m not “kind” enough and I’m not pretty enough. (Kind, my foot. She means accommodating, and I’m not that at all.) It’s always about how I look with Mother. I mean, she’s right, but I do wish she’d say something nice for once. I’m just useless, worthless, helpless, hopeless. Aren’t mothers supposed to be kind to their daughters? Or am I missing something? 

 

23 September 1611

At least Mother does some of the cooking. I’m no good at cooking. The only problem is that sometimes, when we fight, she doesn’t let me eat dinner. I don’t like that because I feel like she’d rather I die than live here a day longer. On the other hand, that’s probably true. 

I wish I wasn’t so…everything. I wish I wasn’t so ugly, clumsy, growing, bad at cooking, bad at sewing and needlepoint and knitting, disobedient…I could go on. I wish I wasn’t like that because I think my friends would still care about me and maybe Mother would love me. 

 

24 September 1611

I need a new hairbrush. Dolora helps me brush my hair once in a while because my hair’s very curly and thick and in desperate need of brushing no matter what I do to it. Sigmun says I have nice hair, but I’m fairly certain he’s just flattering me. He would. Anyways, my old brush is broken beyond repair this time from Mother throwing it. I’m not sure how I’ll get a new one, since Mother certainly won’t want me to buy one. 

At this rate, I actually will have to find a job somewhere. 

 

25 September 1611  
Mother went to church today. She usually goes once a month or so and she tells me I can’t go. I don’t know why, really. Simonn and his family go to church every Sunday like most people, and Sigmun would go but he wasn’t baptized and Dolora would go but the village thinks she’s a witch. I don’t go because Mother won’t let me. 

Today we talked about all the stuff that goes wrong around here. I know it’s not fair how women are treated, and it’s not fair how people with dark skin are treated, and it’s not fair how illegitimate children are treated. It’s just not fair! People tell me it is, but I know it’s not. People aren’t all the same, but we all ought to be treated equally. 

Something really ought to be done about it. 

 

26 September 1611

I wonder what it’d be like to go to school. I mean, Dolora teaches us, and we can read whatever we can reach in the library, but it’d be interesting to go to a proper school and get a proper education. It’s really the only advantage I can think of I’d’ve had if I’d stayed in my birth family. 

 

27 September 1611

I wonder what it’d be like, having children. I suppose I’ll find out one of these days, because I do plan on getting married (just not when Mother wants). I’m just afraid of what’ll happen to me and to my future child. I could easily die any number of ways, as could my child if he or she isn’t a stillborn already. I’m terrified. I’m glad no one else reads these journals, because I’m absolutely terrified of giving birth and I don’t want anyone to know that. I’m a woman, and women aren’t supposed to have any reservations about having lots of children. I do want children, but I’m so afraid. 

 

28 September 1611

I have so many errands to do. I really need a new corset. 

 

29 September 1611

I’ve decided I’ll keep this journal in my closet, under my four-year-old corset. Hopefully Mother won’t think to look there. I think she suspects this journal because I spend so much time in my room, but I can hide my little book, and she couldn’t read it even if she found it. 

I’ve been thinking about him a lot lately. His lovely hair, his eyes that flash red in the light, his smooth and tanned skin, his able hands, his perfect face-shape, his gorgeous structure, everything about how he looks. And about how he’s empathetic, and compassionate, and strong, and brave, and curious, and clever, and creative, and romantic, and sweet, and earnest, and…everything! And the worst part is that I don’t just think about him. I think about him and me together and I can’t stop that either! I keep having dreams of spending time with him in a clearing, just the two of us, and sometimes, since I can’t control my dreams, he leans in and we kiss and he starts kissing me harder and sometimes I feel his hands run down my back and--no, I can’t finish that sentence. 

It’s humiliating when I wake from one of these dreams. Mother’s told me things like them are wrong, but that’s not why it’s embarrassing. It’s awful because I like them. 

 

30 September 1611

Dolora made us all practice writing today. I guess she doesn’t know I write every day. Simonn’s handwriting is awful as ever. Sigmun’s letters are neat and even like mine aren’t. I love looking at Sigmun’s writing, even more so I love him. I love Simonn, too, of course, but Sigmun is different. 

Also I managed to sew myself one shirt that fits and won’t fall apart. It’s embarrassing that I’m growing this way and I wish I wasn’t, especially since I feel like it’s been overnight. 

We go to the play in two days. I can’t wait!


	2. All Hallows' Eve

1 October 1611

I found a penny I have lying around and a pretty dress to wear that fits well enough. I have no idea how I’ll get out of the house for the night and go to the play, but I’ll think of something.

Oh dear, what if it’s dark when I get back? I won’t be able to go home and I’ll have to stay with Dolora and Simonn and (most importantly) Sigmun! For the night! Maybe I’m overthinking this, but even the most careless of parents would be shocked, at least a bit upset. I know I’ve done this before and I’d be sleeping on the couch (which I cannot complain about because it’s extremely kind and it’s a very comfortable couch), but…!!! (There is no better way to express my feelings right now.)

I wonder what it would be like to kiss him, though. I wonder how soft his lips are, how warm his body must be, how his hands would feel buried in my hair. I wonder if I’d feel that dexterity he has when he writes when he touched me, of if I’d feel his tenderness when he held me. I have wondered things like this almost ceaselessly for a long time and I wish I could just kiss him and then I’d know.

I bet his arms are strong and sturdy and everything I love about him. I bet he’s wonderful to kiss. And I bet he loves Neolla and I’ll never find out.

 

2 October 1611

What a day! It’s late and I’m at Dolora’s like I guessed. Luckily I remembered to stash this journal in my bag. I told Mother the seamstress had told me I had to work late tonight and she believed me enough to let me go. I told her I might stay the night and she told me that if I got pregnant she’d kick me out on the streets. Who does she think I am? Honestly.

So I met Simonn by the butcher’s and we met Dolora and Sigmun by the road to the theater. While we were walking there, Sigmun’s hand brushed mine and I thought he might grab on for a second, but he didn’t. Maybe it was an accident. We all had our pennies and everything, so we got in right away. I absolutely love the theater, and so do my friends, so we were all just excited to see the play. Simonn was being sarcastic, of course, because that seems to be his default response to things, and Sigmun was really excited to be there. I know how much he loves theater. Dolora looked so nervous for all of us, because she’s always treated Simonn and me like she has to take care of us, too. I think it’s because Mother doesn’t care about me and Simonn’s parents are so busy they don’t worry about him much, either, and she knows it. There are days when I go to Sigmun’s house after a bad storm or something and she hugs me so tightly it almost hurts, like she’s making sure I’m not a ghost. It’s more than my own mother ever does.

Anyways, the play was amazing! It was about a fairy queen and a fairy king and a fairy named Puck who was honestly not very good at his job (mostly making people fall in love) and these four people who just keep getting confused because Puck’s not very good with magic and Lysander is running away with Hermia, but Demetrius is chasing them because he’s supposed to marry Hermia but she doesn’t want to marry him (I can completely understand how Hermia feels). And then Helena loves Demetrius, but he’s not terribly kind to her (poor girl), and then Lysander and Demetrius both love Helena because Puck did something wrong, but she thinks they’re mocking her (and I can see why) and it all becomes a huge mess and over on the side there’s a few people who fail badly at making a play of their own. And someone named Bottom gets a donkey head, falls in love with the fairy queen, and then the king steals the queen’s changeling! That seems fairly awful to me, honestly. All a woman really has in this world is her honor before marriage and her children afterwards. Taking her child seems horrible to me. But the king (Oberon) takes the child anyways. And since he got what he wanted, he releases everybody and Hermia and Lysander get married, and so do Helena and Demetrius. I quite like the ending because it all turns out well and it’s all very funny. I love comedies. All the actors were amazing, too! I loved the whole thing.

We walked home when it was dark and Dolora told me that there was no way she was letting me walk home in the dark and I could have the couch. Simonn was already planning on staying over, so Dolora made tea for all of us and then those three went to bed and I stayed up with a candle and this journal. But it’s late and I really ought to get to bed. I’m sure I’ll have one of my dreams with Sigmun tonight and I don’t know whether to be happy or ashamed.

 

3 October 1611

I did have one of those dreams and I’m not sure I should feel so guilty but I do anyways. Also, I panicked when I woke up because I forgot I’d spent the night here and I thought someone had kidnapped me or I was going insane. Then I realized I was at Sigmun’s house and therefore I really shouldn’t be panicking because nothing bad has ever happened to me here. And then I remembered the play and everything and I nearly started laughing because it was the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I mean, my days with my friends are fun, but there’s always Mother looming over me. I wish she’d stop trying to shape my life to be like hers! She’s tainted almost everything I do, from spending a day with my friends to having a crush. She’s ruined everything!

But I don’t want to focus on that right now. I’d rather think about good things, like the fact that I have my best friends and that we saw a wonderful play and there are so many things in my life that are good and happy. I don’t see the point of focusing on the negative; I never have. Well, except when it comes to myself, but I actually am that ugly and outspoken and unfeminine and everything else Mother says I am.

It’ll probably come back to bite me some day, this optimism. But I don’t really care.

 

4 October 1611

It’s getting cold out and we can go outside even less. I hope it’ll snow soon. I love snow! I’ve heard in some places it never snows and the leaves never turn and there’re other places where it never gets warm and people wear winter clothes all year long. I much prefer the variety of where I live.

How can I tell Mother I need a new shirt again? My chest is growing at an alarmingly rapid rate and it’s embarrassing because I can’t hide it anymore. I’m just worried about what Sigmun and Simonn will think. We almost looked the same as children, except my long hair. Now I look different because I’ve started growing in shape, because my chest is growing out and my hips are defined, as well as my waist. I’ve been growing far too fast for about half a year now and I hate it. I’m shaped like a girl and it gets more pronounced by the day. Sigmun and Simonn look like boys, growing muscles and getting broad shoulders like men do. I’m just afraid that they won’t want to be my friend anymore. I’m afraid to loose my best friends. I’m terrified.

 

5 October 1611

Mother just sighed when I told her. I don’t know my inherited traits from my blood parents, but I’ll bet anything they include stupid-looking, big, olive-colored eyes and ridiculously hard to brush, thick, curly, hair and a humiliatingly large chest. Mother glares at me whenever I mention something to do with my figure and I don’t know why. At a guess, I’d say she’s jealous, but who would be jealous of me? I’m ugly and unfeminine and nobody. I’m nothing worth being jealous of.

Sigmun was sick today, so Simonn and I went to the clearing and raced each other up trees and across the grass. It’s childish (I’m “of marrying age” and Simonn is too), but I still love races. I almost wish I’d never fallen for Sigmun so things could be like they used to, before I couldn’t stop thinking about him and burying the dreams I can’t control anyways.

I told Simonn and he just nodded. “I bet he likes you, too.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“You’re the one being stupid here.”

“You could just tell me, I know you know if he does or not.”

“But I can’t say. Swore I wouldn’t say anything. How dumb are you?” Simonn’s not big on compliments, but it’s his way of showing friendship.

“I’m smart as you! It’s not my fault all boys are morons.”

“Well, I swore I wouldn’t tell you anything.”

“So…you like me?” (I know how to get my friends to tell me things.)

“No!”

“Then who does Sigmun like?”

“I can’t say!”

“Who do you like, then?”

“I already said.”

“Hannah, right. Get her flowers!”

“No!”

“Oh my goodness, Simonn. You’ll never get anywhere with her unless you do something.”

“She’s too good for me!”

“You don’t know if you never try.”

“But…!”

“Fine, I’ll drop it. But don’t tell Sigmun!”

“Don’t tell him what?”

“That I like him, stupid!”

“Alright, fine. But you’ve got to do something, too!”

“Fiiine.”

So I guess not I have to do something, but heaven knows what.

 

7 October 1611

It’s so funny when Dolora calls Sigmun “little love” or “little one” or “darling” and he gets so red in the face and sometimes I’d swear he glances at me sometimes, but I could just be crazy. That’s more likely.

Today we tried drawing and Simonn is a wonderful artist! I can’t say the same for Sigmun or myself. I’m certainly no artist and Sigmun’s drawing of a flower looked rather like a cloud with a leg. But Simonn completely pinpointed the cover of the book he was drawing! I don’t know how he does it.

I tried to draw Sigmun, but I kept messing up so I drew the cover of my journal instead (by memory). I think it’s recognizable, sort of, except I am hopefully the only one who’s seen my journal since I got it, so I couldn’t ask Sigmun or Simonn.

Oh, and I had the strangest dream. There was this girl, a bit older than me, and another girl a bit younger. They both looked like people I knew for some reason and the older girl was carrying a newborn child. I didn’t say anything and neither did they. They both looked surprised to see each other, and the older girl nearly fainted when she saw me. I wonder what that was all about.

 

8 October 1611

We went to the village today and met Orvill and Grantt and Candas. Orvill said he wanted to be called Orphaner because Orvill sounds stupid. I think Orphaner sounds cruel and scary, so I might stick with Orvill, at least in my head. There are enough orphans around without someone making more.

Candas scares me a little, too. When she talks about her plans for being queen, she’s got this manic sort of look I don’t see on anyone else. When Simonn gets passionate, he stars gesturing a lot and making less sense, but he looks excited. Sigmun speaks very eloquently when he’s passionate about something and he always looks enthusiastic and it’s so clearly heartfelt. But Candas gets this insane-looking spark in her eye that scares me a good deal. She’s going to be ruling the whole country soon! Our village is less than a day’s walk from the palace (which is why Candas comes here), so we feel the full force of the king (queen soon enough). I’m afraid of what we’ll feel when she rules our country.

But of all of them, Grantt is the scariest. He doesn’t talk much, but he always sounds a little bit out of it. In and of itself, it’s not that scary, but what really chills me is the way he says things like, “Five hundred men died in the war last week”. He says it like it couldn’t possibly matter, like those men were disposable. He’s going to be the second most powerful person in the country and I am terrified of what that could entail if human life is so unimportant to him.

Candas asked me why I dress the way I do (I’ve been trying to wrap my chest and it hasn’t been working as well as I’d like) and I just told her I didn’t like how I looked without wrapping and she laughed and told me that I could make good money if I didn’t! What on Earth? Does she think every village person can’t afford dinner?

I might actually talk to Mariek or Neolla next time I see one of them, because they grew up before I did and they might know. And Neolla plans on pretending to be a boy named Nelson to go to school in the city, so she’s bound to know. I’ll see them soon and then I won’t have this problem anymore.

 

9 October 1611

I was in the market today (because I had to run errands for Mother) and I was by myself and this man just walked up to me and put his arm around me and said, “Hey there, sweetheart.” I didn’t know what to do, so I tried to get away, but he didn’t seem to notice. His breath smelled like alcohol and tobacco and his fingers were greasy and slimy. “Get off me.”

“Sugar, why don’t you ditch the shopping and come have a drink with us.”

I wanted to scream, or slap him, or something, but I was too afraid. Instead, I picked up my bags and ducked out from under his arm and walked home as fast as I could. I’m really upset about that and I don’t know if that’s okay. He’s a man, though, so doesn’t he have some sort of right to do that? That’s what Mother says. I feel that it was wrong, but I’m sure Mother would disagree. On the other hand, she doesn’t go into the village. How would she know? I don’t want to tell Dolora or Sigmun or Simonn because they’d get all worked up over nothing. I’m sure it was nothing.

 

10 October 1611

Neolla told me that if I want to wrap my chest I’d have to pay a lot of money for a special sort of cloth that wouldn’t give you cuts and make you unable to feed children later. She had some, but just enough that she’d be able to dress up as a man to go to school. The nearest cheap school is boys-only as a strict rule and she can’t afford one further away. Mariek laughed and said that I had a great figure and I ought to show it off.

“Are you serious?”

“Oh, come on. You’ve got boobs and hips and everything. You dressed different, you’d have every guy in the village after you.”

“But…I don’t want every guy in the village after me!” Maybe she likes when drunk men flirt with her?

“Not the drunks. I mean the nice guys. You’d have a couple drunks, too, but most every guy would want you.”

“I…I…I don’t even want to get married until I’m older though!”

“Really, Dianna,” Neolla said. “You think she’s serious?” I blushed really red and she added, “Who’s the guy?”

“W-What d’you mean?”

“You liiiike someone. Who is it?”

“No one!”

“Right. I’ll pretend I believe that,” Mariek scoffed.

“Look, I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. Whatever,” Mariek said.

“How on Earth do you cope with the men?” She does dress the way she said I should, so I figured I might as well ask her. And also change the subject away from love.

“Oh, it’s easy,” she said. “If you mind, just don’t go anywhere alone. When I don’t feel like flirting, I wander around with Neolla here.”

“You wander around with me because you actually like me.”

“Bonus. Anyways, if you don’t want to have guys all over you, chop off your hair and wrap your boobs or just walk around with one of your boy toys.”

“What?!”

“Simonn or Sigmun, hello?” Neolla said. “Mariek just doesn’t know the difference between a friend and a suitor.”

“Look, I’ll just go to the market with Simonn and Sigmun and I’ll be fine, right?”

“If you don’t mind people saying you’re a prostitute.”

At that point I made some sound of frustration and Neolla patted me on the arm. “Mary’s kidding. You’ll be fine if you don’t go anywhere alone. Oh, and never go out alone at night.” (She calls Mariek Mary sometimes.)

“I’m not stupid, I know what happens to girls who walk around alone at night.”

“Alright. Hey, as long as we’re all safe,” Neolla said. Then we talked about some gossipy stuff and Neolla invited me and Simonn and Sigmun and Hannah and Mariek to her birthday tomorrow. I think it’ll be fun.

 

11 October 1611

Today was Neolla’s birthday! She invited a bunch of us over for a nice dinner. Neolla’s family has money, unlike Simonn’s or Sigmun’s or Hannah’s families. They’re not rich like Patrik or Grantt or Candas, but enough that Mariek and Simonn and Sigmun and Hannah and I could come for dinner. Dolora stayed and talked to Neolla’s mother and they looked all motherly, but I heard them talking and they were all gossipy like my girl friends and I can be. I wonder if boys gossip?

It was great fun at Neolla’s because we were all having fun and laughing and just enjoying life. I don’t get a lot of pure happiness because of Mother and I savored it while I could. We just had stew with a little meat in it and potatoes, and a nice cake. (Much better than the one we made for Dolora.) It’s times like that, when I’m with my best friends and my friends and the people I love, that I actually think I might have a family. Not a blood family like most people, but a heart family. More like Sigmun and Dolora. A family at heart. How odd.

 

12 October 1611

Does marriage make two people family by blood or at heart? Or both? Because marriage is a joining of two hearts (or so I’d like to believe), but children make the couple bound by blood, do they not? I’m never sure of anything these days. Well, except my friends. I am certain about friendship.

We went hiking today and it was nippy and I felt (still feel) great. We climbed up one of the hills to the top where there’s a twisted old oak and we climbed it and sat in the tree and the wind was blowing through my hair and I hadn’t wrapped my chest and I just felt good. I could breathe properly and everything and I don’t think Sigmun or Simonn even noticed. Well, I thought I caught Sigmun looking at me, but I’m not going to get my hopes up. That’s happened to me too many times for me to let it happen again.

 

13 October 1611

Names are funny things. It’s all in the way someone says it. When Mother calls me by name, it’s the worst insult you could call someone. It’s like “Diyana”, all nasal and awful-sounding, and I can tell she spells it with one n. But when Dolora calls me by my name, it’s either three short, sharp, scolding syllables (when I do something dangerous), or long and motherly with “dear” after it, like “Dianna dear.” Simonn always says my name quickly, like he’s got something more interesting to follow it with (and he usually does). And Sigmun says Dianna like a compliment, all sweet and soft with two n’s like I spell it. My village friends say it all excited, the way I say their names, like we haven’t seen each other in years. I’m not sure how I say my own name. I’m proud of my first name. Dianna—the huntress, the goddess. I like the shape of the words and I love the “Di” part and I refuse to take it the way my mother says it. But my last name is shameful. It’s the noble family who keeps so many in poverty, who hurts people and doesn’t care. I’m not like them. I don’t want to be like them. I don’t tell people my last name, and if I do, I say it all funny so it’s unrecognizable. Different enough so it’s still my name, but it’s also my name.

What if I did marry Sigmun? I’d be Dianna Vantas. I quite like that. Sigmun and Dianna Vantas. I’d love to be able to say “Sigmun and Dianna” like husband and wife. Not like “Mr. and Mrs. Sigmun Vantas” but with both our names. Sigmun and Dianna, Dianna and Sigmun. Now I’ve thought on it so much I’m sure to have one of those picnic dreams tonight. I’ll keep dreaming about walks and picnics and kisses and hands and I’ll keep being embarrassed until I can get him out of my head, I’m sure of it.

How am I supposed to do that?

 

14 October 1611

I was right. A swimming dream. I do love swimming in that little eddy of ours, even though my skirt weighs me down and my hair gets heavy and tangled. It was summer in the dream, July I bet, and it was just my usual swimming dream with just Sigmun and I. I don’t want to write about it now, because I’m tired and today was more interesting than one of those dreams, anyways. (And maybe, just here, I’ll admit I’m embarrassed about it.)

Today, soldiers searched the village. They were recruiting servants for work at the palace. Well…recruiting. More like enslaving. Sigmun and Simonn and I are all at risk and we were in the village when we saw the soldiers marching. Sigmun panicked and grabbed my hand and I grabbed Simonn’s hand and the three of us sprinted away. But somehow, a soldier pinned us as “wrong”. Illegitimate, poor, female, I don’t know which ones of they latched onto or why, but as we started running, there was a man on trail chasing us like we were his prey. We were his prey. Simonn was in the lead and must’ve known we’d get caught if we stayed in the village, because the guard or soldier or whoever was faster than us. So he did the only thing he could do: he pulled us away from the village and into the forest.

Nowhere near Dolora’s, of course. No one’s that dumb. I ended up in front and I pulled us towards the third clearing we’ve found, the one full of briars and pricklies. I could hear the man behind us, crashing through the woods as we pulled ahead because we all know the woods like the backs of our hands. Suddenly Sigmun turned sharply right and pulled Simonn and I into this ditch he must’ve known was there, because it was invisible otherwise. Simonn and I, since we were all still holding hands, basically flew into the ditch. I sort of landed on top of Sigmun and Simonn landed next to me, but I couldn’t move because there were so many leaves; I’d make a sound. So I was stuck with one arm and leg and half my body sprawled over him and I could feel him and his heartbeat was so calm and I couldn’t help but wonder how.

But anyways, the man ran right past us and into the clearing and he started shouting that he’d kill us if he found us. I was properly scared and I was shaking really badly, but Sigmun put one hand on my back and pressed just hard enough that it felt safe. I reached out for Simonn’s hand and Sigmun took Simonn’s other hand so we all knew the others were safe.

We didn’t move until the man had long since gone and it was getting dark. My chest hurt from lying face down for so long and my friends were stiff and sore. It felt like it was freezing out because we were all in summer clothes, and Sigmun’s nose was bleeding. He must’ve hit himself on something when we landed. I asked him if he was alright and I think he blushed (though I don’t know why) and said he was fine. He sort of covered his nose with one hand and said he’d walk Simonn and me home. Everything about him seemed to stay away from us, physically speaking. We went to Simonn’s house first, then mine. I got close enough to my house to see it, then I told him he ought to go before Mother saw him. So I hugged him one more time and he turned headed for home. I slipped in without Mother noticing and made it to my room without getting yelled at. The whole thing left me rather scared. What if it happens again and we don’t make it out?

Is it weird to be obsessing over how much of him I could feel when we nearly died? He’s got such strong legs, all fast and able and everything. And I could hear his heartbeat because my head was near his chest and it was so calm and steady. I’ve always wondered if he’d be a kind husband, or a clever one, or a funny one. I’d guess he’d everything at once and I think the word I’d use to describe him would be “loving”.

 

15 October 1611

We went down to the river today and it was too cold to swim (obviously), but we weren’t there to swim, or even to fish or something. The point was to test out the swing.

We can’t cross the river except by swimming, and that’s really dangerous because of the current. Our eddies that we swim in do not protect us crossing the river. But the other side of the river is only part of the woods we haven’t explored yet. So we made a rope swing over the summer, two actually, to cross the river with. The current is lowest now, just before the snow, so it’s safest to test the swing.

I climbed the tree and crawled out into the best limb to hang the rope from. Simonn tossed the rope up to me and I tied it on. Sigmun was going to be the one to test it out. If it worked, he’d also have the second rope to swing back. Then we’d link the two ropes and make a sort of bridge to cross the river on. And if it didn’t work, we’d fish him out of the river and just try again later. Sigmun’s the best swimmer of us and the least afraid of swinging across the river, so that’s why he was testing it.

I got the knot all tied as tight as I could and I dropped the end of the rope to the ground. I stayed up in the tree in case I had to jump into the river. Sigmun climbed onto the rope and Simonn pushed him as hard as he could. I was nervous when I watched because the river gets pretty cold in winter. Sigmun got to the top of the swing’s arc and jumped for the other side.

He didn’t quite make it. I had to jump into the river and grab him around the waist to pull him out of the current. Simonn tossed us a third rope he’d had the foresight to bring and I gripped that rope, too. Simonn pulled us out of the river and Sigmun started coughing water up so Simonn whacked him on the back and he coughed really hard and then stopped.

“Are you alright?”

More coughing. “Yeah. Fine.”

“You know,” Simonn said dryly. “I don’t think it worked.”

“You don’t say,” Sigmun answered, coughing again.

“Right, well, we just need a longer rope,” Simonn said. “Or Dianna could tie it closer to the end of the branch.”

“I think the second one,” I said. “It’s a really strong branch, it should hold.”

“Can we wait on testing it again for a couple days?” Sigmun asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat.”

I hope it works better next time. It was pretty scary pulling my best friend out of a river. At least he didn’t start drowning. I have no idea what I’d do if Simonn or Sigmun started drowning.

And, of course, what I can’t stop thinking about was the feeling of his stomach under my arms when I had to wrap my arms around his waist. He’s all muscles, I think. He probably doesn’t have fat to spare, because Dolora is not rich. On the other hand, neither does Simonn. But he’s all wiry and skinny. Not that that’s a bad thing (I sound horrible right now), but Sigmun’s just so handsome and so clever and so brave and so determined and I just love him.

 

16 October 1611

I had the swimming dream again last night. I almost always remember my dreams and this one more than most. The swimming dream is probably my favorite, even though it’s the one I feel most guilty about. I don’t want to write it down, but I also don’t want to leave anything out of this journal. So here it is.

I always realize what’s going on when I’m walking down to the river with Sigmun. The dream starts before that, I suppose, but I never remember it. I’m holding his hand and it’s soft and warm and his grip on my hand is firm, but also gentle. It’s usually just before sunset, judging from the light. We get to the river and dive in and we just kind of splash around for a bit and for some reason my skirt doesn’t feel so weighed down like it usually does. Then, usually when the sun starts setting, he swims over closer to me and we float right next to each other and he kisses me and I don’t usually remember how it feels, but I know it feels wonderful. And we have to hold onto each other tightly because we’re floating in a river and I feel his hands brushing other parts of me besides my back and my hair and I don’t remember that too well, either (I suspect part of it is my mind repressing it), but I still like it. In the swimming dream, I’m not always wearing a shirt and he hardly ever is (which is mostly why I didn’t want to write about it). I guess the swimming dream is a guilty pleasure because I always wake up feeling happy and ashamed.

 

17 October 1611

We figured out a new plan for the rope today. I’ll hang it farther out on the limb and we’ll practice on land first so Sigmun jumps off right. It’d be so fun to actually build a bridge! Right now the plan is to fasten the two ropes to branches on opposite side and string them parallel so we can weave more rope and sticks and whatever else we can find between them and make a sort of sky-bridge-thing. We’d have to climb trees to cross, but that’d protect the bridge and anyways, when you’ve grown up with the forest as your playground, you can climb trees.

Dolora sighed nervously when we told her we needed more rope. I think she’s worried the bridge’ll break and we’ll drown or something. I just want to see the other side of the river. I can always see mulberry trees and black raspberry bushes and I think it’d be great to have berries, and anyways, black raspberries with milk and sugar are my favorite treat.

 

19 October 1611

We’re testing the swing again tomorrow. I hope it works this time, because it was not fun fishing Sigmun out of the river. And it was pretty scary! Even if I didn’t love him like I do, I would’ve been worried and scared. I wonder if they could tell how afraid I was. My friends say I’m brave, but I’m not. I’m afraid so often that it’s a wonder I do anything at all. I’m so confused about myself that anything I do end up doing makes me full of self-doubt. I know this, I know that I must be able to do something right, and I know it equally as well as I know that everything I do will go wrong. 

I wonder if Mother has done this to me. It’s just…Mother criticizes me for things my friends don’t care about, and they compliment me for things Mother says I shouldn’t be. Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora have complimented me on my beauty, my brains, my sense of humor, my bravery, my strength, my writing skills, my outspokenness, my kindness. I tell them thank you, but they’re wrong. I’m just not anything good. That list didn’t help anything; it’s highlighted for me everything that’s wrong with me.

It’s funny, though. I don’t care that all that stuff is wrong with me; I’m still going to meet my friends and speak up for myself and stand up to Mother. I guess I’m just too stubborn to give up the things that actually make me happy.

 

20 October 1611

The swing worked! We managed to string the two ropes across the river and no one got dumped in the water this time. Sigmun jumped across and he climbed the other tree and tied the second rope on. Which prompted the question of how we were going to get the ropes across, which Simonn had luckily thought of. He tossed me a rock and I tied it to my rope, while Sigmun tied a rock to his rope, and we threw them to each other. Sigmun missed the first time, but caught it the second time, and we tied the ropes on nice and tight. Then he had to make it back across, which involved this whole harness system I thought of and Simonn designed and Sigmun built. And that was pretty nerve-wracking because it was my job to help him off the harness without falling into the river again.

He climbed onto the branch and we got his harness undone. We were going to keep it so we’d be safer building the bridge, but it fell into the river and no one really wanted to go get it. No one was going to risk the river for a few feet of rope.

By then, it was getting dark and Simonn, who is honestly much more reasonable than Sigmun and I combined, shouted that me better come down from the tree before we froze to death or fell into the river. The sun was setting when I walked home and I think it’ll be fun building up that bridge.

 

22 October 1611

It was warm today, so we worked on the bridge. We found sticks and planks and ropes and anything else there was and we got a good eighth of the way across. I was a little skittish about the bridge, but the two of them were fine and in the end, I was too. I don’t know why my nightmares sometimes haunt my days; I know they’re just dreams.

Simonn’s going to have another little sibling soon. He wasn’t going to tell us, but Sigmun and I could tell something was on his mind. He says the new one will arrive in five months or so. I wonder if they’ll survive. Simonn only once talked about his siblings that didn’t. Apparently, he’s had two sisters and a brother die before they turned five. I wonder what would happen if Simonn did have another sibling. He’s already the oldest; would his parents even notice him? He says his father is kinder about noticing than his mother. I wonder if he’d rather have my mother, hovering over everything and sharply criticizing every mistake or “mistake” she finds. I’d certainly rather have his father.

I wonder how Sigmun feels about his birth parents? He doesn’t really talk about them, likely because he probably doesn’t remember a lot. The only reason I suspect he remembers anything is because his last name is Vantas, but Dolora’s is Maryam. None of us have normal families, but sometimes I think that works out better for some than others.

 

23 October 1611

We went to the market today. I met Neolla and Mariek and Hannah in the park while Simonn and Sigmun went off with Sumner and Patrik. Mariek’s older than me and Hannah is a bit younger. Neolla’s in between Mariek and me.

“I’m going to go to school next fall,” Neolla said.

“How’re you gonna manage that?” Hannah asked. “Yangsley’s only takes boys.” Yangsley’s is the local school. I guess she didn’t know about Neolla’s plans.

“I’ll dress up as a boy and call myself Nelson,” Neolla said. “I can get my father to vouch for me and everything.”

“You guys all want education or something!” Mariek teased, rolling her eyes. “I’m going to be a pirate.”

“A pirate!?” Hannah exclaimed. “I just want to get married!” Hannah’s rather like what Mother wants me to be, except she doesn’t criticize what our other friends want to be.

“Yeah, a pirate,” Mariek said. “Can’t a woman support herself?”

“Yeah,” Neolla agreed. “Why d’you think I’m going to school?”

“Wh-what do you think, Dianna?” Hannah asked me. I think she wanted someone to validate her.

“I think whatever you want to do with your life is perfectly fine.” Because it ought to be! A woman ought to be able to be a pirate or a scholar or a housewife or whatever she wants to be. A man should be allowed to be a pirate or a scholar or a stay-at-home husband or whatever he wants to be. Why does no one else see things this way? It seems like it’s just the eight of us who think things ought to be different. Even Candas doesn’t see it this way, and she’s going to be the queen! I hope to heaven that something can be done.

 

24 October 1611

It sounds horrible, but we’re planning something for All Hallows’ Eve. (I’m exhausted; I think that’s why I let myself get talked into this) I know it’s bad to pull pranks on people, but I think this’ll be funny. And it’s not on anyone who’ll care. We’re just going to put soap in the town fountain. It’s a small one, and it won’t hurt anyone. We just need soap. And I have an idea where to get some.

 

25 October 1611

I hope this isn’t one of those things that seems like a good idea at the time. The day after All Hallows’ is All Saints Day and the whole town will be celebrating that. Hopefully Mother will be gossiping with some village women and I’ll be able to escape her and the giggling girls who will be like Mother or like Mariek’s mother (who is a gossipy woman and a very archetypal mother) someday. I think sometimes that part of the reason I don’t like them is because I’m afraid I’ll end up like them. Fear doesn’t always mean shaking hands and sweaty palms, I’ve discovered.

I’ve never really done anything like this before. I don’t really know what to think of it right now, because it’s harmless and at the same time it’s fairly dangerous. That is, we will be in so much trouble if we get caught. And Dolora doesn’t know, either. It was Simonn and Sigmun’s idea, but I’m helping, too. We’ll be pulling it off the night of October 30th because the fountain goes on in the morning. I hope Mother doesn’t find out.

 

26 October 1611

Today we were reading a history book to each other and I was sprawled in front of the fireplace, half-asleep, and Simonn was reading while leaning up against the bookcase, and Dolora was working on a dress of some sort, when suddenly Sigmun put his face right over mine and shouted, “WAKE UP DIANNA!” I kind of screamed and Dolora smiled to herself (I don’t know why) and Simonn threw the book.

“What was that?!” (I was napping!)

He smiled, all mischievous like he is sometimes, and he said, “You were sleeping just when we got to the part about Marathon.”

“So?”

“That’s when it gets interesting!”

“I was napping, Sigmun! I didn’t sleep a lot last night.”

“Why not?”

“No reason.” I had a nightmare about all of them dying at the king’s hand while I watched. I wasn’t about to tell him about that.

“Oh, come on, why not?”

“I had a nightmare, why else?”

“Oh.”

“Next time, could you try warning me before you start shouting?” Simonn grumbled. “I’d rather not throw books around.”

“Uh…sorry.”

“It’s your turn to read anyways,” Simonn said, handing the book to Sigmun. “I’m gonna get some water.” We don’t usually eat at Dolora and Sigmun’s house because they have so little anyways.

“Fine.” Then Sigmun started reading and I couldn’t fall asleep because I like the sound of his voice too much.

 

27 October 1611

Mother and I got in an argument today. When I got home, my dress was dirty because it was what’s likely the last warm day of the year, so we worked on the bridge. I suppose Mother thought I’d been doing something she doesn’t approve of (heaven only knows what, that list is endless), because she stood in front of me, blocking the way to my room, and said, “Where have you been, young lady?”

“Work, Mother.”

“What sort of seamstress’s work involves dirtying this already awful dress?”

“I like this dress! It was just muddy on the road, that’s all!”

“I know what you get up to, consorting with those friends of yours!”

“What friends?”

“Those girls in the village, that awful Natalia or whatever her name is—”

“It’s Neolla, Mother!”

“Who wants to go to school, of all things, and that Mary—”

“Mariek!”

“Who’s so promiscuous, going around with all those men, and that Hannah whose family has no money! The only respectable person you’re friends with is the heiress to the throne!”

“You could at least bother to know her name! It’s Candas!”

“How dare you be so disrespectful to the princess!”

“Because she’s my friend!”

“And you never speak with Patrik!”

“Because I don’t want to marry him!”

“You’re not going to get anyone better! You’re not anywhere near pretty enough for any other man in the village to look at you twice!”

“I don’t care! Then I just won’t marry anyone at all!”

“That is not an option, young lady! How dare you talk back to your own mother! I’ve heard you say the most awful things in the village, about how women ought to go to school and get an education and all sorts of ridiculous things! Haven’t I told you enough times that you’re far too outspoken and far too opinionated to ever have a husband?”

“I’m sorry for thinking differently from you!” (Mother hates when I’m sarcastic like that.)

“And there you are again with that sarcasm! You’re the worst daughter a mother could ask for! Heaven forbid you wear anything even remotely feminine or brush your hair or at least try to wrap your chest!” (I gave up on that once I realized the only people who care are drunk men in the village. And once I got a bodice that fits properly.)

“What’s wrong with my body?”

“You’re ugly and far too busty and not nearly pretty enough to attract any men on your own!”

“How do you know that?” I know Sigmun doesn’t like me, but she doesn’t.

“If you mean that skinny boy with more siblings than his family can afford, he is far too poor for you to marry! And if you mean the boy with no father who lives in the woods with that awful ‘educated’ mother of his who follows you around, he is not one appropriate to marry for one of your social status, even though you can’t seem to act it!” Does she think my best friends might love me that way? Can’t I be friends with boys with nothing romantic between us???

“You know what? You’re not my mother! You’ve never been my mother! You can’t accept that I don’t care about the same things you do!”

“How dare you! I have raised you for more than sixteen years and you have never appreciated me!”

“Because you haven’t raised me! I haven’t spent time at home with you except for dinner since I was seven!”

“You used to spend all your time with those horrid boys and that educated woman!”

“You never even bothered to learn their names!”

“Because you should never have spent time with them!”

“They made me better, Mother!”

“They made you worse!”

“If you had your way, I wouldn’t have any friends at all!”

“Maybe then you’d learn some respect for your mother!”

“Just let me do what I want for once in my life!”

“You’re being horribly disrespectful! Go to your room!”

“Fine!”

“And don’t come down for supper!”

“Fine!”

I think arguments with Mother wouldn’t wear me out so much if she wasn’t right.

 

28 October 1611

Today I was trying not to be too upset (because that was my worst and most tiring argument with Mother in a long time as I spend most of my time avoiding her or blocking her out), but of course my friends noticed. They always notice! I guess I can’t be surprised, considering that I always notice when they’re feeling down. Simonn asked what happened and I just told them I had a fight with Mother. They know how wearing my fights with Mother are. It’s just really tiring, that yelling. And I didn’t have dinner, so I was hungry, too. I don’t think Mother knows how much fighting with her wears me down. I suppose I have to admit I don’t know how it affects her, either. But she knows she’s not my mother and she knows I care too much about my friends.

We started on a physics book today. Physics is a new sort of science that talks about how things move and I think it’s pretty interesting. Except whoever wrote this one huge book on it, Principia, wasn’t too concerned with making simple sense. But Simonn’s quite good at breaking it down for Sigmun and I, just as I break down language books for them and Sigmun takes apart history and ideology books for us. I guess we all have our strengths. As far as I can understand, there’re three laws about things: they stay moving at the same speed in the same direction or stay still until something pushes or pulls them, they move more if pushed or pulled more, and two things put equal force on each other when you push or pull on them. Simonn got very excited about this and I find that very endearing (in a platonic way).

Also, Sigmun showed us calligraphy and he did my name and I thought that was also very endearing because he was so careful with the letters and he did that thing when he wrinkles his nose because he’s concentrating and he was holding the pen really tightly (I guess to keep from messing up) and I just love how he looks when he’s focused on something he cares about. He’s radiant when he’s like that! I need to stop thinking about him, though, or I’ll never be able to focus.

Mother didn’t speak to me today and I didn’t speak to her. At least I got dinner.

 

30 October 1611

I got to Sigmun’s early today because sometimes Dolora gives us chores to do and we had to make sure we’d done all of them. And because I am a horrible person, I heard Simonn and Sigmun talking and I listened again.

“Is all you ever worry about girls?” (That was Simonn.)

“No! Excuse me, how often have I brought her up? Maybe once a week at most!”

“Yeah, but you’ve been obsessing over her for months now! Just do tell her already, moron!”

“I can’t!”

“And why not?”

“Because I know she doesn’t love me, okay? I know it.”

“Look…how about we stop yelling at each other and cooperate to solve all of these issues?” Simonn sounds so formal sometimes.

“Okay. Fine. So, the main problem here is that you love someone, and I love someone, and both of us know that the other one’s crush does in fact like them back while knowing that their own crush does not.”

“I can’t think of a more confusing way to put it, but yeah. Basically.”

“So who’s right?” Sigmun asked.

A long silence.

“I don’t know.”

Another long silence. “Why is she so perfect? It’s just not fair.” (Sigmun sounded really lovesick and I know it’s horrible but I’m really jealous of whatever girl he loves.)

“You sound like a lovesick twelve-year-old.”

“Shut up!”

“I don’t moan about Hannah, do I?”

“You do! Just last week you were going on and on about how she was so sweet and so shy but also so beautiful…”

“Shut up!” (Simonn was really embarrassed.) “Look, Dianna’s probably here by now.”

“Fine. I’ll go check.” I knocked on the door just as Sigmun opened it and his face went from the face he has after arguing with Simonn to the one he has when he’s a little bit flustered (which is incredibly charming).

“Hi!”

“H-Hi,” he said, and I don’t know why he was stammering. I want to believe it’s because he’s nervous around me, but I know that’s not true. But his smile is just so captivating! He makes me want to faint and at the same time it’s like a rush of energy. I wish there was a word for it.

I told Mother I had to work late again and Simonn’s parents don’t have work, so we all said we were staying over. Once Dolora was asleep, we went into the village with the soap that I took from Mother’s cabinets and dumped it all into the fountain and it was exhilarating! I’m almost afraid to go into the village for All Hallows’ Eve tomorrow, but at the same time I can’t wait. Here goes nothing!

 

31 October 1611

Oh my goodness. I went into the village today with Mother and I had every intention of escaping her right away but the fountain was absolutely full of bubbles! I mean, they were everywhere! And the ground around the fountain was so slippery that people kept falling over (no one got hurt) and I felt really bad for laughing, but almost everyone was laughing. I could see Mother trying not to laugh, and that is saying something! I saw Simonn with all his siblings and he was covering his mouth with one hand and I saw Sigmun with Dolora and his whole face was red from not laughing! Dolora also looked about to burst from keeping it in and I have a feeling she knew it was us and didn’t particularly care. I hope Mother didn’t realize.

Anyways, the entire town had to avoid the fountain or risk slipping and falling for the rest of the day and the man who maintains the fountain (I have no idea if that’s his job or what) just flushed it out with water and someone cleaned up the square so we didn’t hurt anyone, not really. From the look of it, I think most people thought it was pretty funny.

I think I know who painted Mr. Tailor’s house, though. Only Mariek would do something that mean.

Mother took me to the park, where she met all these women with daughters my age who giggle at everything at kept pointing at men they thought were good-looking. None of them were as handsome and Sigmun and I bet none of them were nearly as kind or funny or sweet or smart or honest as him. Actually, Sigmun walked by and I asked them what they thought.

“Who, the skinny one or the short one?” one of the girls, I think Mary, asked.

“The short one.” The skinny one was Simonn.

“He’s alright. Sorta…short, you know?” one of the other girls, Joan, said.

“I think he’s quite handsome. Anyways, he’s sweet and funny and quite smart.”

“Does he have money?” Mary asked.

“No.”

“Then why bother with him?” yet another girl, probably Elizabeth, asked.

“Because what’s the point in marrying a man with money if he’s just going to use you?”

I got a lot of strange looks. “You’re an oddball, Dianna,” Joan said. “Oh, look at him!”

I am an oddball, but I’d rather have my sweetheart crush and friend for a husband than any of the men they were looking at. So I waited until they were ignoring me again and I slipped away to find my real friends. I’ve never spent time with all my friends at once before. Sigmun, Simonn, Hannah, Neolla, Mariek, Candas, Grantt, Orvill, Patrik, and Sumner were all there. I don’t know why Grantt and Orvill and Candas bothered coming here; the celebrations the city must be so much nicer. I have no particular desire to live in the city, but I’d love to visit.

Anyways, we all chose a spot in the park and stood around there. People were handing out flowers and sweets and that was especially nice. I ended up with a few flowers I wove into a little bracelet (a trick every little girl learns in the village) and several sweets I ate right away before Mother could bug me about ruining my figure. We don’t have a parade or anything for All Hallows’; everyone just gathers and there’re sweets and flowers and it just feels sort of festive.

But it got late and dark and we all had to go home. Since Hannah and Mariek and Neolla and Patrik all live in the center of town, they went their way while Candas and Grant and Orvill headed for the road. Sigmun and Simonn and I live in the same direction from the town square, so we walked home together. And Simonn’s house is in the village, so eventually it was just Sigmun and I walking home alone.

He had a flower from earlier and I don’t know why, but he pushed my hair back (I always let my hair fall in my face because I know I’m not pretty) and he tucked the flower behind my ear. He has the gentlest touch of anyone I’ve ever met! He was so tender and delicate and it was just so sweet! It was all tentative and careful, like I’d slap his hand away. I was blushing so red my face felt like it was on fire! He didn’t say anything, but he sort of dropped his hand and smiled awkwardly, like he was embarrassed, and then turned left where I had to turn right. I can’t even think right now! I had to hide the flower from Mother, but I’m not getting rid of it. I’m sure he was just being friendly, and no boy would keep a flower anyways so why not give it to a friend, but I do wish it meant that he loves me. Oh well. I guess I know that’s never going to happen. I wish and I dream, but I know in my heart of hearts that my dreams will never come true. Any of them.


	3. Father Dearest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Father dearest, or not so dearest, depending on how horrible it is this time.

1 November 1611

Today was All Saints’ Day! Mother and I went into the village because it was a holiday and she wanted to see all her friends again. And I got stuck with those giggly girls from the center of town. “Hi, girls,” Joan said. “So, I think I’m going to try to court Henry. The tall one.” (She’s eighteen, so she’ll be getting married quite soon.)

“He’s so handsome,” Mary said in a dreamy sort of voice. Then she switched to almost businesslike. “How’re you going to manage that?”

“It’s easy. I’ll pretend to court some other man to make him jealous.”

“He’s definitely looking at you. All you’ve gotta do is find someone else who’ll fall for you,” Elizabeth said.

“How about him?” Mary said. “The short one.” They were pointing at Sigmun.

“Oh, just right. And see how he’s looking over here too? Definitely looking at you,” Elizabeth encouraged. I didn’t bother to point out that he was “kind of short” yesterday.

“Either me or Dianna,” Joan said.

“Of course it’s you!” Mary insisted. I made eye contact with Sigmun, blinked, and looked away. Joan’s far prettier than me; he’d never choose me over her.

“You’re a heartbreaker anyways, Joan,” Elizabeth said. “Just act like you do and he’ll fall head-over-heels for you.”

“Alright,” Joan said. She set her shoulders back. “Wish me luck!” She marched over to Sigmun and I know it’s awful but I was green-eyed with jealousy! Girls like her, who can just walk up to a man and make him like you, just remind me how flawed and hopeless I am.

“Don’t you think it’s kind of cruel to deceive a man like that?” I asked Mary and Elizabeth. I think it sounds simply awful. Anyways, I don’t want to see Sigmun’s heart break. I hate seeing him in pain.

“I think it’s fine. It’s more important to marry a man with money, anyways,” Elizabeth said.

They started gossiping about some girl named Frances I’ve never met and I turned to Sigmun and Joan. She was being very flirty, all hips and hands. But he was stepping away, and he looked kind of alienated. He held up his hands like he was trying to fend her off and she looked quite offended, then stormed back to us.

“What happened?”

“He told me that he was courting another girl!” Joan hissed angrily. I think she was more upset that she was rejected than anything else because she’s never rejected. I’m sure he wasn’t lying, because he doesn’t lie. I wonder who the other girl is? You’d think I’d know. It’d be obvious, really. He doesn’t do anything halfway. He’d be giving her flowers and doing nice things for her like that. Who could it be?

After all that, that Henry boy came over and started talking to (of all people) me. I don’t know why, either. Anyways, I just talked to him like I would anyone else.

“Hey there. Don’t see around much.”

“I’m not in the village much.”

“That’s too bad. Dianna, right?”

“Mm-hmm. And you’re Henry, right?”

“I sure am. How come a pretty girl like you doesn’t spend more time in the village?”

“I spend my time in the forest, or reading.”

“Oh, you can read?”

“Of course. Can’t you?”

“I can read a few very important things.”

“Like what?”

“Oh, like, for example…body language.”

“Can’t we all?” I could tell he was flirting with me, I could hear it in that voice and see it in his gaze that entirely failed to meet my eyes (and rested elsewhere, like my chest), and I didn’t like it.

“Well, I know what your body language is telling me.”

“That I’d rather be somewhere else?” I said. Because I wanted to be in the woods, or at Dolora and Sigmun’s, or at least somewhere else. Somewhere away from him, because I was trying to tell him to go away without being rude and he wasn’t getting it. I suppose flirting is alright, but not when one person is trying to tell the other to leave.

“Like where?” Did he have to keep persisting?

“My best friend’s house. Maybe the forest.” Might as well be honest.

“Who’s your best friend? Is it me?”

“No. My best friends are Sigmun and Simonn.”

“Boys?”

“Yeah. What about you?” I thought I might try for polite conversation.

“I think I’ve found a new best friend.”

“Who’s that?”

“A very pretty girl.”

“Who? Joan?” Well, it couldn’t be me.

At that point, he rolled his eyes and said, “Never mind.” I guess he got the hint. I just didn’t want to be rude, but I also wanted him to stop giving me that awful look like I was a particularly succulent turkey. I don’t like it.

He left and Joan gave me a withering glare. I guess she was mad he was flirting me. I was a little afraid, to be honest. Joan can be pretty scary when she wants to be. Why are so many of the village girls so strange this way?

At any rate, I finally escaped them all much later to spend my time with Sigmun and Simonn. We ate sweets and played horseshoes and sang silly songs and laughed. I love holidays with my friends. There’s this sort of belonging I get with them that I don’t really feel anywhere else. I just feel sort of welcomed.

I’m actually writing this at Sigmun’s because I couldn’t find Mother and Dolora invited Simonn and Neolla and Mariek and Hannah and Sumner and I for dinner and that was really quite fun. I remembered to keep this journal in my purse because I keep pressed flowers in it and I wanted to have some to give to the little ones who run around looking for sweets (which I can’t afford). It’s rather late and most of the others have left, but Simonn and I are staying a bit later. I hope Mother doesn’t get upset.

 

2 November 1611

I stayed over at Sigmun’s because it was late and dark when I planned to head home. Mother’s going to kill me when she gets home from running errands. Oh well.

Anyways, I was asleep on the couch like always and I had a nightmare. I dreamed that all my friends were dying and every time I reached for them to try to save them, they screamed louder. I suppose I was thrashing around (I either thrash or get paralyzed when I have a nightmare), because I felt someone shaking me awake.

“Dianna? Dianna? Are you okay?” It was Sigmun. “Do you have a fever or something? Should I get Mama?”

“Just a nightmare…” I breathed. I couldn’t manage much more.

“Oh.” He kind of shifted awkwardly. “Anything I can do?”

I don’t know where I found the courage to say this (probably exhaustion), but I said, “Just…stay here. Please.”

“Okay.” He pulled up a chair and he held my hand and he started stroking my hair and I wish I could fall asleep like this every night. I’d never have another nightmare. It felt so good just to feel his hand on my hair because he was so gentle and that warm grip on my hand just…I can’t describe it. And I heard him talking to me, though I’m not really sure what he said. Except I thought I heard, “Go to sleep. I’ll guard your dreams.” Maybe I was dreaming. And…I also thought I felt him press his lips to my forehead, just once, like when he gives me flowers and I kiss him on the cheek, but maybe I was imagining it.

I woke up in the morning and he was still holding my hand. He was sort of leaning back in his chair, sleeping actually.

“Rise and shine, sleepyhead.” That would be Simonn, sarcastic as ever. He smirked and added, “It’s nearly eight.”

I kind of panicked because I really had to get home. Dolora called us to come to breakfast and she had that knowing smile on her face. What is it that she knows? So I shook Sigmun awake and we ate breakfast and we went to the market because it still feels like a holiday and I wish his hand brushing mine was on purpose but I know it wasn’t. It can’t be.

 

3 November 1611

Mother was very mad at me today (she was sort of drunk last night and she didn’t recognize me. Again). She slapped me and shouted for a while until I could escape to my room. She said I was irresponsible and a horrible daughter and some other stuff I don’t remember. I wish she wouldn’t say things like that, but she’s probably right.

I really don’t know why Simonn always laughs when Sigmun brings me whatever smattering of winter flowers he’s managed to find (still, every day!). Plenty of winter flowers grow around here. Well, a few. Okay, almost none, but he still finds some every day and I don’t know how he manages it. I think it’s very romantic and sweet and I’m blushing even writing about him. And I can’t stop thinking about how he was so kind when I was having a nightmare…my nightmares can be pretty horrific sometimes, and that one was one of the worst. Why did he do that for me? He’s my friend, of course, but he was holding my hand and stroking my hair and that seems like something he does in my imagination. And he sounded so worried, like I might actually have a fever. Not to mention kissing my forehead and telling me he’d guard my dreams! If I was observing me, I think I’d tell me that he loved me (that was a strange sort of sentence). But I’m not observing me, I am me, and I know that no one will ever love me the way I love Sigmun, especially him. I’m just not the sort of girl who has a love who loves her back.

We went outside today, all bundled up, and to the river. It’s starting to freeze and it was such a sight! The river’s current is so fast that it’s never quite safe to cross on the ice, but over the eddy it freezes pretty much solid and we can slide around. I can’t wait for winter!

 

5 November 1611

I was so busy yesterday that I didn’t write at all! Days like that irritate me to no end. I love movement, and I love being outside, and I love doing things; I don’t like sitting still. I never have. But I enjoy sitting down after a long day and pouring out my thoughts someplace private where I can sort out my tangle of conflicting desires. I want Mother to love me, but I want to be myself and keep my friends. I want to believe my friends but I do believe Mother. Who knows what’s going on in my head these days?

Anyways, today was just a normal day. Exploring the woods (though there’s not much left to explore!), reading some books, napping by the fire (though that’s just me), eating dinner with Mother while she nags endlessly and I remain silent. Now all I have to do is fall asleep and hope my dreams don’t make a lick of sense tonight.

 

6 November 1611

Luckily for me I dreamed about pieces of paper and pens dancing to music and then carrots having debates with onions over whether or not shirts ought to be sold from clouds. I much prefer dreams like this because I’m sick of feeling guilty and ashamed and I hate being afraid. I wish I could fall asleep every night like I did when Sigmun was holding my hand. To feel his hands, warm and gentle and dexterous and delicate, against my own tired skin, or to hear him whispering kind things to me; I think that would be just the best thing in the world.

I can feel Mother’s stress building because Father should be coming home in a bit longer than two weeks. I don’t know what to think about this because I do not love Mother, no matter how I think of it, but I also feel bad for her because her love never bothers to come home. I wonder if she knows as well as I do that he is not faithful to her? I need no evidence beyond the scraps of paper he leaves behind with calligraphied names on them and the behavior that so mirrors that of the men in the village who wrap their arms around me and call me “sugar”. It’s almost painful how obvious this is and I don’t want Mother to know it, but I’m sure she does. How odd it is that I want happiness for Mother while I also can’t stand to be in the same house as her.

Today I decided to be especially stupid while I was reading a French book to Simonn and Sigmun. I could tell Sigmun was dozing off, so I threw the book and said, “Catch!” He started awake but didn’t catch the book; instead, it landed on the floor next to him (I planned it that way) and he jumped. “That wasn’t fair!”

“You shouldn’t go falling asleep when you’re learning French!”

“But verb conjugations are no fun.”

“The subjunctive is just when it get interesting!” (So I was kind of teasing him at this point…)

“Hey!”

“You shouldn’t wake me up when we’re reading about Marathon or whatever it was.” (Because I didn’t want him to know I’d gone over that moment twenty times at least in my head.) “Okay, maybe that was unfair, but still…”

“Alright, alright.” (He was sort of backing down like he does.) “So are you going to keep informing us of the many ways to conjugate être? I’m so fascinated!”

“Shut up!” (I was teasing.)

“Well I actually am interested, so will you two stop flirting so we can get on with it?” Simonn snapped. He’s been snappish and I think it’s because his mother’s pregnancy is making his family more ignorant of him than ever. (Also, his parents told him he doesn’t have to go to church on Sundays a few weeks ago, so he goes to Sigmun and Dolora’s instead. I’ve heard church can be very boring.) But the flirting comment made me flush a horrible shade of red, so I hid behind the book and let Sigmun answer.

“As if!”

“As if what?”

“Just let her keep reading, jeez.”

“Right.” (Simonn rolled his eyes and leaned against one of the bookshelves. I was in a chair, Sigmun was leaning against the couch, and Dolora was sitting in her rocking chair.) “Read on.”

At any rate, I doubt I’ll remember a word of that book by tomorrow. And I’d swear there’s something Simonn and Dolora both know that I don’t and I wish I knew what it was! I don’t like not knowing. I’m always the odd one out and I’d rather not feel that way within my own group of best friends.

 

8 November 1611

Mother’s tension just means she sends me on more errands. Food, fabric, needles, soap (whoops), whatever she can think of. It cuts into the time I can spend with my friends and makes me irritated because the amount of unused things sitting around the house grows like garlic mustard. I hate all the clutter.

But if this time is anything like every other time before, it’ll die down in a week and Mother will switch to nagging me about how I dress and how I do my hair and how I walk or whatever it is this time. I’m tempted to hem one of my skirts to the knee just to annoy her.

It was freezing out today and I forgot my cloak. Dolora crossed her arms and smiled at me, half-amused and half-reprimanding. It’s a look I got a lot more from her when I was a clumsy twelve-year-old. I don’t drop things so much anymore, or so I’d like to think. Mother calls me clumsy sometimes, but not enough for me to know it to be true. Dolora can always tell when something’s wrong and she made me a cup of tea with honey in it and when I tried to tell her that I was fine and she didn’t have to, she just gave another one of those looks and I took the tea.

“Tea?” Simonn asked me. “What’s wrong?”

“Mother. She’s been stressed because…just because,” I really don’t like talking about my father.

“Right. I’ll pretend I believe that,” Simonn said sarcastically.

“I don’t want to talk about, okay? I don’t like talking about everything, jeez.”

Simonn held up his hands and rolled his eyes. “Why’re you being so defensive? I just asked.”

“Never mind,” I said. “What say we read something on science today.”

“Fine by me,” Simonn said, picking up one of the books he always reads from, but not the physics one. Sigmun sat next to me, closer than he normally does, and he threaded his fingers through mine and squeezed once before letting go and moving to sprawl on the couch. I know he knew something was up, but he doesn’t usually call it out like Simonn or I. Simonn acts all sarcastic and callous, but he cares. He just shows it differently. And I always call it because I know my friends don’t like talking about things and I can understand that, but sometimes they really have to.

At any rate, we read up on chemistry today and I found it rather interesting, actually. It’s not like physics, which is just not something I can grasp, and it’s not like biology, which is kind of disgusting. I don’t like drawings of dead thing’s insides. Call me mad.

Oh, and I found a nice hair ribbon in the market today I’d like. I think I’ll ask Mother, because I could to with something to keep my hair out of my face.

 

9 November 1611

Mother said I could get it! I never thought she’d do anything nice for me, but maybe it’s just that I actually need this particular item. My hair always falls in my hair and once, when I was cooking, the ends caught on fire. That was especially terrifying.

We studied some romance book Sigmun pretended not to like today. I really ought to tell him Simonn and I know, because he always gets so flustered about those books! Although I find him very charming when he’s flustered, I think I should tell him.

 

10 November 1611

More errands. I hope this dies down soon so I can put the house back in order and get back to spending my time with my friends, instead of running all these useless errands. I hate going to the market alone because there’s always at least one man who’s drunk enough or desperate enough to try to flirt with me. I hate it because I don’t care what Mother says about men having rights to this, I feel that it’s wrong. It just feels wrong. I think that I should be allowed to choose who touches me! Is that really too much to ask for?

At any rate, it happened again today and I did what I always do, which is bite my lip and walk away. I know speaking up won’t get me anything. It never has. No one listens to a woman, no matter how clever or right. I learned that from Mother. Sigmun gets very worked up over things like this. Once I talked about the time I saw a man yelling at a woman who was presumably his wife and when she spoke back, he slapped her. I think that was wrong, so I told Sigmun and Simonn, and Sigmun got very upset. He said it was so wrong, this was all so wrong, why could no one see it. I almost wish he wouldn’t; he worries me. But he’s right; something must change. It’s anyone’s guess what.

 

11 November 1611

11/11/11 today. Isn’t that supposed to be good luck? I certainly hope so. I saw a shooting star and I wished on it today. Does writing down your wish count as telling someone? No one else will ever read these words (I hope), so maybe not? But I won’t, just to be safe.

We read some French today and I’m happy because I love languages. So far, I speak English , Spanish, Italian, and Latin fluently (well, Latin decently. Sigmun’s best at Latin). I want to speak French and German and Russian and all those other beautiful languages too! How can anyone stand to just speak one language?

I have a feeling that something is bothering Sigmun. Every time I see him, he’s always glancing over at me and it makes me feel rather self-conscious because what is it? Do I have something in my teeth? Is there a spider on my arm? (That happened once. Luckily, all the books survived.) What is it?

I always thought Mariek was joking about boys being “an enigma worth the greatest of pirates”, because Sigmun and Simonn have always been pretty transparent to me. But here I am, utterly unsure of what he’s thinking. At least Simonn’s still pretty obvious.

 

12 November 1611

Simonn didn’t come today; I think one of his siblings must be sick or injured again. Simonn’s family always comes to Dolora for healing, but Dolora was out today (as usual), so I don’t know.

Dolora being out isn’t like Father being out. Dolora goes out, does her work, and comes home every day to make dinner and she still manages to be teacher for us. And she sews all her clothes (Sigmun’s too), keeps her garden, and reads every book she can find. I want to be like Dolora when I’m older; she’s amazing.

Anyways, Sigmun and I went to the river, because it was especially cold today and sliding on ice is fun. Nothing but our little eddy was frozen over, but that was enough to slide around on without falling in. Except once, I got kind of close to the edge and he grabbed my hand to pull me back and his hand was warm and strong and exciting. Everything about him excites me. He grinned and pulled me towards him and I spun around like crazy until he caught me and said, “You’ll fall in, you know.”

“I’m fine, Sigmun.”

“Just don’t fall in, alright? I mean, I’d have to dive in to get you!”

“You wouldn’t! I could pull myself out of the river just fine.”

“Well, if I fell in, I wouldn’t mind you rescuing me.”

“You’d probably drown before I could get to you.”

“Maybe so. But what if you bumped your head or something? What then, Deedee?”

“Shut up! Siggy!”

“You shut up!”

“Well, you could try letting me go, first of all.”

“Oh. Uh…right.” I guess he forgot he was holding me. I didn’t really mean it, though. His arms were so nice to be in. He was holding me around the middle, with his hands interlaced behind my back. I was sort of leaning back, so my hips were pressed against his. But my head wasn’t close enough to his for me to dare to kiss his nose. He let go of me and I didn’t fall (I can stand on my own, for heaven’s sake), but I was kind of disappointed. It really was very nice to be held by him. Is it really so bad that I liked the feeling of his arms around me? I wonder if he liked holding me, if he liked that my hips were pressed against his and that our legs were all tangled up together. Maybe he more just felt like he’d helped me. I mean…I don’t think he’d love me the way I love him. I’m just not that lucky.

I might as well relish what little I can get. The accidental hand brushes, the times he’ll hold me just for safety, if he ever kisses me just because I’m the only girl around to kiss. I’ll never get anything better than that, and I know it. Why bother pretending? I’m just not that sort of girl and I’m not that lucky. Anyways, he could have any girl he wants. Why would he choose me?

Mother gave me a lecture on what I should look for in a suitor today. It was basically someone who’ll own me properly. Well, I don’t want to be owned and I don’t want a man like that anyway. Heaven forbid a woman own herself!

I’m getting worked up again and I really should just go to bed. I’m quite tired and when I get worked up like this, I feel like yelling or throwing something. I feel like fighting. I feel like I need to fight for what I feel must be right. And even though Mother says it’s wrong, I feel like it’s not and I get very upset.

I’m going to go to bed now. I hope I can figure something out by tomorrow.

 

13 November 1611

Simonn is such a kind friend! I feel like a horrible friend compared to him. He’s so kind about listening and everything. Mostly because today, I really needed to talk to someone about Sigmun and Simonn said he’d listen. So I kind of blurted everything, including me over analyzing every single thing he does. Except the dreams. Those are personal.

“No offense…but you sound like a lovesick twelve-year-old.”

“Shut up!”

“You do, though. You’re obsessing.”

“I just think he’s really sweet and really smart and funny and handsome!”

“Obsessing.” He drew out the word and I know it was frustrate me.

“Shut up!”

“Look, you could keep obsessing. Or you could just tell him. You know, like a normal person?”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Because he doesn’t like me back! Do I look like I was born yesterday?”

“Yes, you look like an infant.” He’s so sarcastic. “Dianna. I know I’m not exactly a romantic genius, but I think you should just tell him.”

“I can’t, though! I try to and I can’t!”

“Yes you can. Just go up to him and kiss him.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“I physically cannot!”

“It’s psychological!”

“It would be humiliating!”

“So is this conversation!”

“What do you mean?”

“I am trying to give you, one of my best friends, advice on how to kiss my other best friend, you think maybe that feels a bit weird?”

“Fair point.”

“Exactly.”

“Look. I don’t know anything beyond what you’ve told me, but I think if you told Sigmun, you’d be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“I don’t give advice unless I’m sure. What sort of friend do you think I am?”

“Thanks, Simonn.”

“Any time.”

“That reminds me…Hannah?”

“Shut up!”

“If you’re going to tell me to just go up to him and kiss him—”

“Hi guys!” Sigmun interrupted. “What’s going on? Who’s kissing who?”

“I’m trying to talk sense into Simonn,” I said.

“Excuse me, I was trying to talk sense into you!”

“I am perfectly sensible!”

“What is this about?” Sigmun interrupted. I stomped on Simonn’s foot before he could say anything and said, “Simonn won’t listen to me about just giving Hannah some flowers.”

“I agree with Dianna! Just get her flowers, Simonn. Otherwise you’re a hypocrite!”

“Am not!”

“You are!” (I’m not sure what Simonn would be hypocritical about.)

“I just…I can’t. Can you guys please drop it?”

“Okay, fine,” I said. I could tell he was actually getting upset and there’s nothing nice about making someone you care about upset, so I dropped it. “C’mon. The eddy froze over; let’s go skating.”

“Fine by me!” Sigmun grinned. His hair bounced as he did and it was very charming. “Well, come on! It’ll be dark by the time we get there at this rate!”

We skated around till late, then Simonn and I went home. I thought I caught Sigmun staring at me, but I’m probably wishing it into existence. I could also feel Simonn rolling his eyes at me, but I just gave him my most withering glare. I’m good at that.

Oh, and Mother tried to talk me into meeting this other man, George or something. Maybe she’s given up on Patrik? I still don’t want to marry him, whoever he is. Heaven forbid I choose who I marry.

 

15 November 1611

Today Simonn and I had to look for Sigmun, because Dolora said he was in the house somewhere but she didn’t know where. Simonn checked his bedroom while I looked around the living room. I checked behind one of the bookshelves, and he was wedged between it and wall with one of the books of romance poetry. He was reading it just like he reads Latin to himself: mouthing the words as his eyes speed over them, taking in everything.

“Sigmun?”

He jumped about a mile in the air and slammed the book shut, trying to hide it behind his back. “H-Hi, Dianna!”

“What’re you reading?” I teased.

“Just…some poetry! Good poetry. Because it’s good literature…”

“Can I see?”

“N-No!”

“I’ve read all the romance books, too, Sigmun.”

He blushed a painful-looking color of red. “You know about that?”

“We both do,” Simonn said, appearing seemingly out of nowhere. “It’s fine, Siggy.”

“I read them, too,” I affirmed. “It’s fine.”

“I don’t read them, but I don’t really care, either.”

“Okay. I guess that’s not too bad. But…uh…would you mind not telling anyone else?”

“Jeez, what sort of jerk do you think I am?” Simonn said, rolling his eyes.

“I wouldn’t tell,” I said, rolling my eyes at Simonn. “Come on, let’s read some other book of poetry.”

“I call choosing,” Simonn said. “If you guys choose, we’ll end up with one of the bodice-rippers.”

“What?!” Sigmun kind of shouted. His whole face was scarlet still and that didn’t help.

“S’what my mother calls them. The ones with the damsels in distress on the cover and the shirtless guys. I dunno, I think damsels in distress are boring.”

“They are. But I’m a sucker for that sort of romance,” I grinned. Sigmun was still red as a rose all over, but I thought I saw him nod.

 

16 November 1611

Mother gave me a new dress she sewed today. I was rather happy, except that once I put it on, it was ill-fitting (she must’ve guessed at my measurements) and it outlined everything she doesn’t like about me. The sleeves were too my wrist and tight, and the collar was up to my neck and also tight. Not to mention itchy. The waist was too small and the skirt too long. And the top was too big around my chest, which was just awful because I feel really guilty for growing that way and I wish I wouldn’t. Is it odd to wish your own feelings away? I have a feeling I shouldn’t have to, but I do anyways.

Well, at any rate, I took the dress to my room and altered it to fit because I quite like the fabric. I was tempted to hem it up to my knee, but that might’ve been a bad idea. I just cut the sleeves to be cap sleeves and the neckline to be more comfortable. I took the waist out a bit and hemmed up the skirt to my ankles. And I did fix the top so it fit properly, because I actually do have a chest and I’d rather my dresses fit it. I only wear dresses sometimes, anyways; usually, I prefer shirts and skirts, only because they’re easier to wash and to wear and my bodice still fits over them.

We practiced French today by saying random stuff to each other out loud, with Dolora correcting sometimes (because French is her second language). We’ve been studying French for about a year now, and I think we’re close to knowing it well enough to move on. The idea is to learn enough of lots of language to get by in another country. My goal is to be fluent in all the languages we learn. My friends might be able to get by, but I want to be fluent!

As it turns out, Sigmun can tell me that he lost the glasses that he doesn’t wear and that he needs to find his way to the mill in French. Simonn can ask for directions to the local pastry shop (pâtisserie) and tell me he likes to read physics books. Honestly, I think I’m probably the best at French. That’s yet another thing Mother wouldn’t approve of.

Oh, one more thing about today: we were sitting around and I was about to go home because it was close to dinner when Sigmun tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Dianna? Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“So…uh…”

“What is it?” I didn’t have much time to get home before it got dark and I’d have to stay (which I didn’t want to do because I left my journal at home), or it would still be light but when I got home, Mother would kill me.

“I was just wondering…”

“Yes?” I was getting kind of nervous and I don’t know why.

“Uh…do you…um…I really…I really l-li—”

“Sigmun! Can you get me the aloe?” Dolora called suddenly

“Uh…yes, Mama!” he called. “Uh…never mind.”

“Alright. See you tomorrow!”

“See you,” he said. I wonder what that was all about?

 

17 November 1611

I was early again today. I feel awful again, but I heard them talking. This time, it actually was an accident. Anyways, here’s the conversation.

“You were too afraid?!”

“Shut up! Have you ever had a huge confession hanging over your head while there’s a gorgeous girl staring at you and you know you’re about to throw away every single positive emotion you’ve ever harbored? It’s a lot of pressure to put on someone!”

“You said you would! You swore you would!”

“I was under a lot of pressure! Do you have any idea what a girl that sort of eyes can do to you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Have you ever tried to think when she’s looking at you with those eyes?”

“Yes, and I don’t find it all that hard!”

“You have no idea what it’s really like! I can’t even think when she’s looking at me! And when she talks…I get so tongue-tied that I think I might never speak again!”

“You’re so lovesick. Just tell her!”

“I can’t, okay? I can’t.”

“Okay, you won’t listen to me? Alright, who else would give my exact advice?”

“I dunno. Try nobody?” I have sarcastic best friends.

“Dolora would! Remember I came here way early last week and you were moping around and Dolora told you that you should ‘make sure that you’re not concealing anything from anyone who’s very important to you’?”

“That…that’s different!”

“And Sumner! Didn’t he tell you that the best thing to do is always just tell the girl?”

“Maybe he did, but he’s all confident and stuff!”

“Neolla! She laughed her head off at you and then she told you that you should just tell her! Everyone agrees with me!”

“I’m not brave enough to do something that stupid!”

“Look. Do you just want me to tell her? Because I can actually think when ‘she’s looking at me with those eyes’.”

“Shut up!” There was a pause. “I’ll tell her myself.”

“When?”

“When I’m ready!”

“Also see: never.”

“Look, it’s just really hard, okay? It’s really hard to talk when she’s giving me that curious little look and she’s got those big eyes and that gorgeous smile and…it’s really hard!”

“You think I don’t know what that’s like? I’m serious, you have absolutely nothing to lose if you tell her.”

“How do you know that?”

“I just do!”

“So I should just tell her?”

“Yes!”

“Thank you for the advice even though it’s kind of useless!”

“You’re welcome!”

I sighed and looked up. “Are they shouting about something or other again?” Dolora asked rhetorically. She was gathering up her medical things before leaving.

“Mm-hmm.”

“Well, I wouldn’t blame you if you yelled at them a bit.”

“Yeah…I think I’ll go do that.”

“Alright. Tell Sigmun dinner is at seven.”

“Okay, Dolora.”

“Now, don’t go outside today. It’s far too cold as it is and the wind’s coming from the north. And there’s a new book on the table on German history if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, Dolora.”

“Any time, Dianna dear. Now go on, I’m sure they’re about to start shouting again soon.”

I smiled and jogged upstairs, where Sigmun and Simonn were sitting in Sigmun’s room. “Hey guys!”

“Hey, Dianna.”

“Hi, Deedee.” Simonn said.

“I’m not letting it get to me…Simmie!”

“I hate you.”

“Yeah right.”

“Hey, guys?” Sigmun said. “Dolora got a new book on German history today, wanna read it?”

“Yeah, sure,” Simonn said.

So we got started on that book and I’m left to wonder who on Earth that girl is who Sigmun gets all tongue-tied around. I thought it was Neolla, but I’m not sure now. She always wears these strange tinted glasses because they distract from her feminine features and she’s been practicing for Yangsley’s, so the whole thing about her eyes doesn’t make sense. Anyways, she never looks curious. Who could it be? Who could possibly be that lucky, to have his heart?

I sound like Joan or Elizabeth or Mary. I said I wouldn’t do this! I swore I wouldn’t! Oh, fabulous, here I am again, wishing away my own feelings. Is there nothing that’ll make my emotions feel like the right ones?

 

18 November 1611

I seem to have misplaced my hair ribbon again. I always lose my hair ribbons, which is annoying mostly because I need to keep my hair out of my face. I have very thick, very messy hair and it’s hard to keep it from falling into my eyes. Though I prefer it that way when I walk around the village, I’d rather be able to see when I’m hiking or picking berries or reading.

It was very, very cold today, but it didn’t snow. The sky was gray, the color of fabric with no dye added, but no snow. There was some rain, but late at night, after Mother went to bed and I was sitting up with a candle and writing. That’s not important, though.

We stayed inside today and we all sat really close to the fire to keep warm. Dolora wasn’t home at all and Sigmun said one of the women in the village was giving birth and Dolora wouldn’t be home for a while. So I asked if he was alright for dinner and everything and he looked at me all funny and said, “I can cook, thank you very much.”

“I’m just making sure you’re okay.”

“Thanks. I’m fine.”

“Good.”

Simonn rolled his eyes. “We can both sew and cook and stuff, Dianna. I can operate competently in the world.”

“I worry about my friends, like a nice person.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” Sigmun said. “I can cook my own dinner.”

“Me too,” Simonn said. “And I can sew my own clothes.”

“I can, too,” Sigmun said. “And knit, and do needlepoint.”

“You can do needlepoint?” Simonn asked.

“Yeah.”

“So can I,” I added.

“I’m not coordinated enough for that.”

“I could try to teach you.”

“No thanks. I don’t like poking my fingers with needles.”

“Fair point.” I don’t like needlepoint either.

“So…the point is that I can take care of myself when Mama is in town. I have since I was little,” Sigmun said. “Anyways, I’ll just make some stew or something. D’you guys want to stay?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Sounds good to me,” Simonn said.

So we stayed for dinner and it turns out Sigmun can cook pretty well. I guess baking is just our collective weak spot. I wonder if other people would think it’s odd that my friends who are boys can cook and sew and knit and stuff. I think it’s good. I mean, I think it’s important for women and men to be able to sew and everything, just for the sake of supporting oneself before getting married. Anyways, if I were married, I wouldn’t do all the cooking and sewing and household chores, anymore than he would do all the money-making work. I know Sigmun wouldn’t be a husband who would do all the money making or make me do all the cooking; I mean, he just felt the need to prove to us that he could cook and bragged about being able to sew. He’d be nicer than that.

 

20 November 1611

Mother started nagging today, even more than usual. It was about my hair. I can quote exactly what she said.

“Your hair is getting too long and too messy and you don’t even take the time to brush it out anymore. How are you supposed to get married when you don’t even brush your hair? How can you take care of a man when you can’t take care of yourself? And do you ever even think about cutting it, at least some? You look like a prostitute with your hair like that! Not to mention that it’s ugly, that awful brown color. You could let me dye it, you know. Maybe make you a bit more marriable.”

“Mother, I like my hair.” That is, my hair is the only part of me I don’t mind.

“You shouldn’t. It’s awful. You really need to do something about it. Try smoothing it or cutting it or thinning it; I could use hair thinner.”

“Mother, that burns like fire!” It doesn’t even work. I asked Dolora, to be sure, and she said it was a scam.

“Doesn’t matter. If you’re going to find an acceptable husband, you better fix yourself up. Even if I could arrange a marriage with Patrik, he wouldn’t want to marry you because you’re so ugly and unfeminine and clumsy and outspoken and disobedient! At least let me fix your hair!”

I gave up after that. Mother kept talking, but I tuned her out and let her lecture on. I know what she said and she’s right; why does she have to keep saying it?

 

21 November 1611

Funny thing today. I heard only a few sentences of Sigmun and Simonn’s conversation when they were in the kitchen for a few seconds.

“Look. Why do you want to tell her?”

“Because she thinks no one loves her!”

“Well, that’s dumb. We obviously care about her.”

“That’s not the point. You’ve heard the way her mother talks to her. I’d think no one loves me either! I just want her to know someone loves her.”

“Then does it matter if she loves you back or not?”

“I guess not…”

“Then tell her, for heaven’s sake!”

“I’m just scared she won’t want to be friends anymore!”

“Are you stupid?! Of course she will!”

“How do you know?”

“I just do. Okay? I just do.”

I still don’t know who this girl is he’s talking about. I don’t know anyone who feels completely unloved. Well, I feel unloved, but then I am unloved. No, I’m unlovable. I also don’t know who he’d be worried about losing. I think it’d be crazy to stop being friends with someone for any reason unless they were a bad person or you just couldn’t stand them to the point where you felt bad. Or if it’s a friendship that’s just making you miserable. I mean, why do anything that makes you miserable?

 

22 November 1611

I have never wanted children as much as I do right now. Apparently the woman and the child both lived (the woman who gave birth a few days ago), because I saw them both walking around the village. The little one (I think it was a boy) was such a cute little thing. I just…I really want children. I know that that’s something women are supposed to do, but outside of what I’m supposed to want, I want children. I think I always have. I want love, and I want to have children, and I like to sew, and there are other feminine things I want and like. But there are also things I like and want that women aren’t supposed to like and want. I don’t know.

Well, anyways, it was rather warm today, so we put on our cloaks and went outside to walk around. It was a lovely day and I’m absolutely positive that Sigmun’s hand brushed mine more than once and I felt him almost take my hand. Why is he doing this? Is he teasing me? What if he knows how I feel and he’s messing with my head? I don’t think he’d do something that mean, but…he’s a boy and I don’t quite know how boys decide what seems mean (it appears rather arbitrary to me). Maybe he thinks it’s a joke? I think if that were true, my heart would break. I don’t treat romance as a joke as a rule and I’m scared that he doesn’t know that. Do boys think about breaking hearts? Some women certainly don’t and now I’m worried he’s going to break my heart for fun.

No, I shouldn’t be thinking about this. He’s nice! I’ve known him since we were little. He wouldn’t do something like that.

Would he?

 

23 November 1611

What a day. I got my bleeding today and that wouldn’t be a problem only it started while I was at Sigmun’s. Considering that it’s been happening for a few months now (I started just normal, at least compared to my friends), I suppose I’m lucky this hasn’t happened before. We were sitting around the fire and I just suddenly felt like someone was stabbing my stomach and I kind of screamed.

“OH FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE I AM GOING TO STAB SOMETHING!”

“Uh…Dianna?” Sigmun asked, and he sounded a little scared. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I said testily. I was very irritated. Simonn just looked rather scared and unnerved.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Hold on a second.” I went to find Dolora (she was out of the room) because I needed another woman to help me out. Dolora smiled understandingly and said, “That was you yelling? I know how you feel.” One of these days I’ll have to explain to them why this happens and I think that will be the most awkward day of my life. Maybe Dolora will instead, because I think I might not be able to do that.

“Would you like some pain medicine, Dianna dear?”

“Yes please.” I made a few absorbent things out of old linens Mother never noticed I took. She’d be so mad if she knew I’d started my bleeding. I don’t know what’s wrong with it; every single woman and girl I know who’s older than eighteen has their bleeding. (Except pregnant women and a few who just start late.) I don’t know why Mother thinks it’s so wrong. I can’t do anything about it except take whatever mix of herbs Dolora sells to women in the village (it’s how she makes a good deal of her money) and hope it’ll be over soon. I don’t know why Dolora won’t let me pay. I tried once and she gave me this funny look and told me not to worry about it.

I had to go home after that. I hope my friends aren’t worried. The pain is just so awful some days and actually, shouting helps. I hate it. I hate my bleeding so much. Sometimes I think I might want children just so the bleeding stops for a while. 

Oh, wait, one more thing, before I forget. This strange man in a strange suit with white hair knocked on the door at Mother’s and asked about something strange I didn’t know about. I don’t know. I’m a little confused. I just told him that I didn’t know what he was talking about and he moved on. He was with this woman who had hair cut almost like a boy and tight, rather revealing clothes. I wish I could wear clothes like that; they look much more comfortable than the traditional women’s clothes.

 

24 November 1611

Father should be coming home any day now. Mother hardly moved from the front room today and I know her nerves must be stretched to breaking. I can’t help but feel bad for her; it must be awful being left behind like this. And she’s stuck with me. I know that Mother only loves Father and that I’m a burden and even though I’ll admit I resent her for that, I do feel sorry for her that Father doesn’t seem to care.

We tried drawing again today. I still didn’t get anywhere, but Sigmun did (sort of). Simonn had Sigmun and I sit still (a difficult feat for me) and drew us. He took an awful long time about it, too. He drew me reading a book (because I got bored and picked up a book after a while) and Sigmun staring off into space (he ended up just kind of staring off through the window right behind me). They were excellent drawings and I had to ask.

“Simonn, did you ever do drawing before this?”

“Uh…yeah. I’ve been doing it for years now, since…since I was seven. Eight, maybe.”

“And you never showed us!” Sigmun said.

“Didn’t seem that important.”

“Are you kidding me? These are amazing!” I said. “Hey…you should draw yourself.”

“I couldn’t.”

“You could.”

“You definitely could,” Sigmun agreed.

“Fine. And then…I’ve got an idea. I’ll tell you guys tomorrow.”

“What is it?” Sigmun asked.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow!”

“Pleeeeeeeease?”

“Just…what if I drew all of us? Together? Dolora too.”

“That would be amazing!” I enthused.

“How long would we have to sit still?” Sigmun asked.

“Uh…dunno. A while.”

“Okay. Well…why don’t we start today?”

“Sure, I guess,” Simonn said.

“What, d’you think you’re not good at drawing?” I asked. “Because you are.”

Simonn looked down and scratched the back of his leg with his shoe. “Thanks.”

“It’s true,” Sigmun said.

“Fine. All of you in front of the fireplace.”

“Alright.” Sigmun talked to Dolora and we all sat in front of the fireplace. Simonn stared for a second and started drawing and then he suddenly stopped. “Sigmun, put your arm around Dianna.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m posing you. I do this with my siblings all the time. Dianna, a bit closer to Sigmun…good. And both of you closer to Dolora. Leave space there, next to Sigmun…good. I’m drawing myself in there.” We stayed that way for a long, long time, until it was almost dark. I could feel Sigmun’s arm around my shoulders the whole time and I felt like my insides were all in knots. I wonder why Simonn did that? He either did that on purpose for some reason or he really was just posing us. I wouldn’t know. I don’t know anything about drawing. But Simonn finished in time and it looks almost like real life, except without color. I think it’d be fun to do one every year. Kind of like a family portrait. The kind Simonn’s parents did once (and almost left him out of) and Sigmun and Dolora can’t afford and Mother never does because I’m not really her daughter.

A family at heart. How odd.

 

25 November 1611

If Father doesn’t come home tomorrow, I guess we’ll have to assume he’s dead. I know I should be upset about that, because he is my father (sort of), but I just don’t care about him all that much.

Sigmun and Simonn could tell I was tense, but when they asked and I said that I didn’t want to talk about it because I simply hate talking about my father. He’s not even really my father. Not by blood, not at heart. I wonder what it’s like, having a father. I wonder what fathers are supposed to do. For that matter, I wonder what mothers are supposed to do. My mother criticizes me constantly, but Dolora is encouraging and I don’t know which one a mother ought to be like.

Sigmun gave me a hair ribbon today and I am determined to get this ribbon to tie into my mess of hair. When I was little, my friends told me I had more hair than head. I don’t know why he gave me a ribbon, and I certainly don’t know if he meant it as a romantic gesture or not. Probably not. I’m a little scared Mother will figure out who the ribbon is from and make me give it to her, because I really want to hold onto this one. I know it’s not good for me to think this way, like he might ever love me back, but I really can’t help it.

One last thing about today: Mother tried to give me a lecture on how to fix my body shape, but I ran to my room. My body is my least favorite part of myself because I hate my shape and I just wish Mother would stop making it worse.

 

26 November 1611

Father came home today. I left as soon as I could. He shoved a little wooden toy for a five-year-old boy into my hand and said happy birthday to me. I said thank you and I wanted to ask if he even knew my name because I doubt it. I bet if I asked he’d say my name was Mary Sailor (because that’s his last name and the most obvious name for a girl) or maybe John Sailor (because I’m not sure he knows I’m a girl). And I’d have to tell him no, it’s Dianna. Dianna Leijon. Sixteen. A girl. Don’t you remember?

I suppose I was rather quiet today because Simonn asked me if I was alright and I said yes, I was fine. And of course Sigmun didn’t believe me, so he kept bugging me until I told them my father was home and I didn’t really have to say anything else because they know how it is when my father is home.

I came home with the flowers from Sigmun today (still every day) and Father saw and he asked me, “What’re those? Where were you all day?” (seven consecutive words, a record) and I lied to him the way I do with Mother. I told him I work for the seamstress and the flowers were just some I’d seen on the way home. Then I ran to my room and I skipped dinner (until I went downstairs later when they were in bed). And now it’s like every time Father comes home and he shares a bed with Mother and I can’t sleep. I just want to go to sleep. I just want to sleep.

 

27 November 1611

Father left today around noon (I think). Mother was sad and I’m not happy about that, but I just feel so lonely whenever Father visits. It’s just…I suppose it’s how Sigmun feels about his birth family. Kind of abandoned. Like no one cares about me anymore, not even my parents. I know it’s not true, because I’ve got Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and all my friends in the village, but there’s something about being left behind by my own parents.

I wish I had a family. I mean a blood family. It just feels so lonely without a normal family like everyone else.

 

28 November 1611

Today was an interesting day of a sort. We were sitting around, reading a book about dancing, and I asked Sigmun and Simonn if they knew how to dance.

“C’mon, don’t tell me no one ever taught you ballroom dancing.”

“Well, I never had cause to learn,” Sigmun said.

“My parents are busy,” Simonn said flatly. He’s probably never had time to learn dancing. Mother made me learn dancing when I was little and I never forgot. I don’t like forgetting things I’ve learned.

“Well, I’ll teach you. Stand up.”

“What if I don’t want to learn?” Simonn asked grumpily.

“You’ll need to know dancing at some point,” I said.

“She’s right,” Sigmun agreed.

So I taught them the minuet. It’s one of the fancy dances no one ever really does (we all know the fun dances on festival days in the village and such), but it’s good to know. It’s also ridiculously hard. I’m not going into detail because it would take forever!

While we were dancing, I had to be the woman for both Simonn and Sigmun and the funny thing is, Sigmun was really good and I was about to have Simonn practice when he suddenly started messing up and doing the wrong moves and everything. So I had to practice with him more so he’d at least be decent and I know it’s awful but I kind of liked it. I saw Simonn giving me a sort of raised-eyebrow type look, so I stuck my tongue out at him (I hope Sigmun didn’t notice). I’d swear Simonn knows something I don’t and it’s very irritating.

Anyways, they both learned the dance well enough and now if we ever get invited to dance with the queen (as if), at least we won’t trip when we try to dance.

 

30 November 1611

Mother seems to have picked up her needlepoint again, and if I’m not mistaken, the second figure is Father. He looks much younger than I’ve ever seen him and I think Mother is depicting the past they once had, before the recession.

They always say the recession turned everything upside down. I know it’s why I was adopted and why Father became a trader (traders makes more money and the economy wasn’t so bad other places). I know it’s why Dolora left the city and why a lot of my friends in the village don’t have much. But I’m not really sure how it turned everything upside down. It seems to me that most of the adults I talk to say it’s mostly the same. Then again, I was an infant. What do I know?

It snowed again today, I think about half a foot. I think when it snows a bit more, we can have a snowball fight or something childish and very fun like that. I don’t see what’s wrong with being childish sometimes; it’s more fun and honestly, I think if adults were childish and had fun more often, they’d be happier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so bad and long. Please comment!


	4. Happy Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holiday season is no fun when there's no one to share it with

1 December 1611

December is my least favorite month of the year. Except maybe March (it’s rainy and cold and unpleasant). I like the December weather, but I prefer it when it’s not so tainted. I can’t enjoy the glistening snow and the frosted trees and the painted sunsets because I hate December so much.

Mother forgot about the candles last Sunday and now she’s blaming me. I didn’t know that we were supposed to light one of the candles last Sunday. How was I supposed to know that when she acts like looking at the calendar is a sin?

Dolora’s set out her four candles and I know it’s odd, but I like hers better than Mother’s. Dolora also has five, so there’s that. But that’s not important. Mother says the colors are frivolous and she gets the wax-colored ones. Mother thinks everything is frivolous.

Anyways, I can tell Sigmun and Simonn are getting excited (though Simonn pretends he only keeps track of the days for his siblings) and I like seeing them happy, though it leaves me somewhere in the dust. Or the snow, at any rate.

We studied some physics today and it still confuses me. F equals m times a? I don’t understand it. What’s the difference between mass and weight anyways? And negative acceleration? Physics is not my strong point.

 

2 December 1611

We studied more Russian today and as far as I can tell, it’s easier than some others but harder than Italian. Then again, most everything’s harder than Italian. I don’t really mind, though. I like languages.

Simonn tried to get us to study more physics, but since we studied that yesterday, I was able to persuade him that Russian would be better. I mean, I rather like pure math (algebra and geometry and the like), but that sort of applied math is confusing. I can solve an equation faster than Sigmun (though not Simonn), as long as it’s not trying to match quantities to letters to something else.

Mother told me that she wanted to meet the seamstress I’m working for. Unless I can come up with a very, very clever way around that, I am in a lot of trouble. If she finds out I’m lying, I’ll probably get at least a slap and she might not let me leave the house for who knows how long.

Maybe I’ll admit I’m just a little scared.

 

3 December 1611

Oh my goodness, I almost forgot! Mariek’s mother is a seamstress since her father died. Mariek’s definitely clever enough to persuade her mother to pretend for the sake of a friend. I’ll find Mariek tomorrow and tell my mother the seamstress was sick again today. I hope she believes me. Mother doesn’t believe me often.

It’s Saturday, so I better remind Mother about the candles tomorrow or she’ll get mad again. Mother hates me enough without me giving her more reasons.

We studied another chapter of that novel today and it was fun because the three of us picked apart every line of dialogue and description just for the fun of it. I wonder sometimes about school, because I think analyzing a book that way would be no fun if you’d get in trouble for doing it wrong. How can there be a wrong way to pick apart a book? A book or a poem or even a line of music can mean something different for everyone, and saying one interpretation is more “right” than another just doesn’t seem right to me. I’ve always loved reading and learning and I think if someone was making me learn, it just wouldn’t be as engaging and honestly…I’d probably know a lot less.

 

4 December 1611

It’s really beautiful when Sigmun’s eyes catch the light just right and they turn that vibrant shade of red for just a second. He’s stunning. And it hurts my heart to think he’ll never even look at me twice. No one would, really. I mean, he’s clever and he’s brave and he’s funny and he’s so gorgeous and…he’s such a good person and I can think of no reason he’d settle for me. I probably won’t get married at all, simply because I doubt I’ll ever find anyone willing to marry me. I don’t know why my friends always tell me not to think that way; it’s just a statement of fact.

I reminded Mother about the candles and she glared at me and lit the first two. Hope and peace. If only I had some of that in my house and in my heart.

 

5 December 1611

Simonn kept pinching Sigmun today and I have no idea what that was about. Sigmun actually looked vaguely nauseous and it reminded me of how I feel when I think about telling him. I swear Simonn’s got some sort of secret agenda that he’s not telling us. When he wasn’t bugging Sigmun, he was shooting me these raised-eyebrow looks that said, “Well? What are you waiting for?” After a few times just rolling my eyes, I gave Simonn my best death glare. He rolled his eyes and stopped. What does Simonn know? I don’t know if it’s just me, but I feel like boys in general have become a lot more confusing since around when I turned sixteen.

I saw Mariek today (she was busy yesterday) and she said she’d talk to her mother and I could bring my mother over in the afternoon. I sincerely hope Mother believes the whole thing because I’d rather be able to leave the house and not get any bruises (my mother can slap very hard). My lie gets more complex every minute.

 

6 December 1611

I am the luckiest girl in the world. Mariek’s mother agreed to pretend to be the seamstress I work for and Mother believed her! I’m safe, at least for now. I just really don’t want to give up my learning and my time with my best friends. Mother told me women aren’t supposed to read and I just can’t bring myself to believe her because since learning to read, my life has grown in include whole other worlds and I don’t see how that’s bad.

I think that’s what really gets me about Joan and Mary and Elizabeth and the girls like them. They could be so smart if only they tried.

 

7 December 1611

I had another one of the dreams with the two girls I don’t really recognize, but I should. I have the very good dreams almost every night, to the point where it’s not really worth mentioning. Anyways, I had the presence of mind to look around and I was in a brightly-lit place with no ceiling and no walls, as far as I could tell. The older girl seemed to be holding her child (I certainly think it’s her child) a little less tense than she has before, but the younger girl still looked guarded. They’re not alike enough to be older and younger versions of each other, and they couldn’t be me because the younger girl is my age and she knows the older girl; I don’t. The older girl has much paler skin and greener eyes and darker hair than me and she’s also taller than I’ll ever be. Not to mention both of them are prettier than I ever was or will be. I can see sadness in both their eyes and I wonder what has happened to them, because they seem like nice people. Especially the older girl; she keeps trying to talk to me, like there’s something she must tell me. I want to ask her who she is, how she knows me, and why she keeps trying to talk to me. I appreciate it, but I’m a little confused. Why? Who? I have more questions than answers, of course. I’m curious about a lot of things and right now, this is topping the list.

 

9 December 1611

I wish I had a sister. I wish I had an older sister who knew something about boys. I wish I had a younger sister who smiled a lot because she didn’t know how awful people can be. Sometimes I wish I had an older brother who’d tease me but he’d be nice about it, or a younger brother who’d always want to play because he’d be full of energy. I don’t care what Simonn says about how annoying his siblings are; I can tell he cares about them and I wish I had something like that. His brothers are ten, eight, and seven, and his sister is five. I don’t know if I’d like having a sibling who’s five, or having a lot of siblings, but I’d like to think the house would feel less lonely with someone else in it.

The reason I particularly wish for a sibling right now is that Simonn’s mother is going to have her baby in about three months and Simonn’s been more nervous than usual and I know it’s because of the brother and two sisters who didn’t live. A lot of little ones don’t make it past five or six and we all know it.

We studied French history today and it was quite interesting. I’d like to go to France someday; it sounds beautiful. But I know I’ll never be able to afford travel; only nobility can really travel. Oh, the irony.

 

10 December 1611

Tomorrow is Sunday again and I’m sure the candle is for joy. It’s the third one, right? Hope, peace, joy, love. That’s how I remember them. Everyone celebrates Advent around here and I don’t even know what it means. Someone once told me the name means “waiting”, but I don’t know if that was a dream or real. Well, I suppose I am waiting. I’m waiting for the whole thing to pass so I can forget how I don’t have a family for another year.

 

11 December 1611

We studied Prussian history again today and I didn’t fall asleep because I didn’t dream at all last night. I don’t really know what to make of that. I nearly always dream, and I usually remember my dreams. I wonder what that was about.

Simonn was pretty upset about something and I asked him and he said he had a dream that his new sibling was a girl and she died when she was three from consumption. I told him it was just a nightmare (I know a thing or two about nightmares) and he said it wasn’t.

“Simonn, it was just a bad dream.”

“No, you don’t understand! They’re never wrong! Never!”

“What do you mean?” Sigmun asked.

“Every time my mother’s going to have a baby, I have a dream about them living or dying and they’re never wrong!”

“Wait, what?” I asked.

“I…I didn’t mean to say that,” Simonn said. “I mean…shoot.” He looked like he wanted to evaporate on the spot. “I just…I have dreams and they…they always come true.”

“About other stuff, too?” I asked.

“Only life-and-death stuff…and not always, I mean, about once a year or so. Maybe twice. I can’t read the future or something.”

“Wow,” Sigmun said. “Doesn’t it drive you mad?”

“Of course! I dream about my brothers and sisters dying. It drives me absolutely crazy!” Simonn sounded rather crazy. He looked like he was about ready to pull out all his honey-blond hair.

“Calm down, Simonn,” I said. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay! I’m going to have another little sister and she’s going to die and I can’t just tell my parents, can I? I can’t just walk up to them and say, ‘Hey, you know that kid you’re going to have in three months? She’ll live to be three, then die of consumption. Bye!’ I have to watch the whole thing happen! It’s not okay!”

“Simonn,” Sigmun said. “Maybe it was just a dream. And even if it’s not…you’ve got three years to be happy about a new sister. Three years. That’s plenty of time to change things.”

“No it’s not! Trying to change it never works! I’m just going to watch them love and lose and I know and I can’t do anything!”

“Simonn…why didn’t you ever tell us? We could’ve done something. We could’ve helped, maybe,” I said.

“It’s just something else that makes me a freak of nature, along with the two different eyes. You know my parents almost killed me when I was a baby? I don’t need to give them another reason!”

“Simonn, it’s alright. It’s alright. Deep breaths. Come on, in and out. In…and out. In…and out,” Sigmun said soothingly. I know Sigmun’s seem people treated for being hysterical like this. “Calm down. In and out, breathe easy. There you go. Sit down and I’ll get a glass of water.”

Sigmun made Simonn sit in a chair and I stayed there because Simonn’s never really been that honest in that way ever before. He always tries to hide, even from us. I think it’s because he doesn’t want anyone to know how much it hurts watching little siblings die.

Sigmun came back with a glass of water and Simonn drank it all in one gulp. “Right. Okay.” He was breathing hard, almost panting, and clenching his fists tight as iron. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“How about we read that physics book today?” Sigmun suggested.

“Yeah,” Simonn said. “Sure.” He breathed in and out one more time and he seemed to sort of collect himself. “I’ll start.”

I feel so sorry for him. I mean, my mother doesn’t love me, but at least I don’t think she wants me dead. And he’s almost like an adult, even though he’s our age. I wish I could do something to help Simonn, because it’s obvious how much this gets to him and I just wish there was something I could do.

 

12 December 1611

More Russian today, and I’ve decided that this ranks between German and Italian on how hard it is to learn. Simonn was still distressed, so we read slowly and Dolora made tea. Dolora always makes tea and I know it sounds weird, but I think it helps. Simonn pretended to roll his eyes, but I know he was faking it. I feel so bad for his poor little sister, the one who hasn’t been born yet. The little one won’t know nearly enough life. And the others in his family will all have to cope with the loss. As if they haven’t lost enough children! Actually, they were quite lucky. Simonn was the first, then Annabelle, then Christopher, and then Margaret. Those three didn’t make it. I think Annabelle would be fourteen, Christopher thirteen, and Margaret would be eleven. His living siblings are…hm. Richard is ten, Thomas is eight, Robert seven, and Isabelle is five. And now they’ll lose another one…

I can’t help but believe Simonn about his dreams of the future. I don’t know why he would lie and I don’t think anyone could’ve faked that sort of hysteria. Anyways, he’d never lie about something like that to us. There are people no one lies to and best friends are some of them. It’s just really horrible to think that he knows and can’t tell.

I think the only thing that even comes close is finding out that you were the one not being told.

 

14 December 1611

I persuaded Sigmun to help me and we made cooked apples with cinnamon and sugar and a little bit of puff pastry. Sigmun was reluctant to help and I think it’s because of that cake back in September. Well, it turned out better this time (also, Dolora was home when we were), and nobody set anything on fire. Sigmun looked incredibly relieved when the apples were done and I have a suspicion he was worried about embarrassing himself. It’s a bit silly; I was there when he and Simonn lit the dish towels on fire and when we were about ten and he thought you were supposed to throw potatoes to see if they’re done so he threw a whole bunch of sautéed potatoes on the ceiling and they (predictably) landed on his head (that is a funny memory). I can’t think of anything Sigmun could do that would make me see him any different. Except perhaps something awful like killing someone or the like.

Simonn’s face had this genuine smile for just a moment when he saw the apples (he’d been absorbed in reading). I think he appreciated it. Having a curse like that must be awful.

 

15 December 1611

I hate Christmas. I know that’s a fairly stereotypical thing for a girl with a miserable family situation to say, but it’s true. I hate it. My friends all have families. Simonn’s siblings love him, and he loves them. Sigmun and Dolora have each other. Mariek’s mother and father love her, as do Neolla’s and Hannah’s and my other friends. Candas and Orvill and Grantt live in the city, and they have families. I’ve got no one.

And I’ve got to remind Mother to light the love candle on Sunday. If she loved me, that candle would make a lot more sense. To me, love isn’t my mother. It’s Dolora rescuing Sigmun and keeping him. It’s Sigmun pulling me away from the edge of the ice so I’d be safe. It’s the three of us baking that stupid cake and Dolora eating it anyways. It’s Sigmun and I cooking those apples to cheer up Simonn. It’s Dolora hugging Simonn and I when we come over after a big storm. It’s Neolla’s father agreeing to lie for her so she can go to school. It’s every single day I come over and Sigmun and Dolora’s house feels so warm and safe and full.

That’s love. Not my mother always screaming at me or my father never coming home or Simonn’s parents forgetting him or Sigmun’s birth mother leading him behind in that alley. That’s not love, and I know it.

 

16 December 1611

My chest ached today and I have no idea why. Why does this happen? The worst is when my chest itches because it’s awful and I can’t scratch it. I hate having a woman’s shape because my chest always hurts or itches. And the weirdest thing happens: halfway between my cycles, I get this funny pain down low, by my hip, for all of half an hour. It makes me want to curl up and die, and of course my other thought is that I’m sick and I better talk to Dolora. It’s happened every time, so I suppose it ought to happen? I don’t know. Maybe I should ask Dolora; I don’t know anything about this sort of thing because Mother just won’t tell me. Although I’m willing to bet some of the books on the top shelves would tell me.

I wish people would be more transparent about things like this. I wouldn’t know if I was sick because I don’t know what healthy is supposed to feel like. I wouldn’t know the difference between how I feel and how healthy feels. And though I’m sick of being told how I’m supposed to act and feel, I want to know how healthy feels!

I’ll just ask Dolora tomorrow. I’m afraid I’m sick.

Oh, and we read about more history today. Sigmun was enthusiastic as he picked apart each action and it was so endearing, watching him get so excited. He sees history the way I see language: all the complexities and consequences laid out like a map to follow. It’s how Simonn sees science, how Dolora sees medicine, how Neolla sees law, how Mariek sees the schemes she plans. I think everyone’s got something they see that way, it’s just a matter of finding out what.

 

17 December 1611

Simonn left early and I guess Dolora could tell I wanted to talk to her, because she sent Sigmun to get ice from the river and told me that I could help by getting her herbs. “What is it, Dianna dear?”

“I…I’m just worried,” I confessed.

“What’s wrong, Dianna?” I wish I wasn’t so afraid of talking about things. I know Dolora will listen.

I blurted everything else in one breath. “I get this funny pain by my hip halfway between my cycles and I’m afraid I’m sick and I’m gonna die.”

“Calm down, Dianna dear. You’re fine. That happens to some women. It just means that’s the time of month it’s best to try for a baby, okay? You shouldn’t be worrying.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure.” There’s an almost practiced voice she has when she’s comforting someone, but it’s still soothing. I’m just really glad I’m not sick, because I was sure that I was really sick. I don’t know why Mother won’t just talk to me about growing up; everyone grows up at some point. Sometimes I think she’s keeping me in the dark just because she knows it’ll make me miserable. Maybe I’ve just got a little pessimism mixed in with the optimism.

 

18 December 1611

Geometry today. I prefer algebra to geometry, but geometry’s not so bad. My least favorite is trigonometry. Why on Earth do the sides of a right triangle always work that way? I just don’t understand it. Simonn said that it’s to do with similarities and that if all three angles are the same it proves similarity and…oh, I don’t remember. I don’t care, either.

Mother’s still going on about how all her soap disappeared and thieves must’ve broken into the house and stolen all the soap. She is going to kill me if she ever finds out. I pray she never does.

 

19 December 1611

I got my bleeding today and I hate it, I absolutely hate it. I don’t see the point, I just get annoyed and sore and irritable and rather sick. It’s irregular, too, and I don’t like it because I never know! It’s just miserable.

We studied Russian history today and I do like picking history apart with my friends. I can’t imagine not learning this way. Though I’m sure school will be good for Neolla, and it was clearly good for Dolora, I just don’t think it would work for me. I need to be outside, moving, feeling. I love the dew on my feet, the crunching leaves in autumn, the scarlet sunsets, the cool river on my skin, the rough bark under the palms of my hands, the smooth grass beneath my feet. I love sunshine through green leaves, bright stars at night, ripe berries bursting with juice, lightning and thunder and pounding rain tumbling down to Earth, colored rainbows glittering in the light. I love outside and I can’t imagine learning from books without also learning outside.

 

20 December 1611

Today Dolora was gone all day, which is only noteworthy because Sigmun enlisted Simonn’s and my help to make Dolora a gift. He’s making a wreath out of pines, winter herbs and berries, and preserved things. We found pine branches today in the woods. The snow crunched under my boots and snowflakes landed and melted all over us. Flakes landed in Sigmun’s hair and eyelashes and it just made him so lovely to look at, because he looked like winter and a sunset…and I love him.  
Simonn tripped on a rock and landed face-down in a snowdrift and we had to help him up. And find his shoes. I find it funny that Simonn’s shoes don’t match anymore.

Also, I stayed for dinner and Simonn did too. Dolora made mashed potatoes and stew and some boiled carrots. Dolora makes such nice meals when Simonn and I stay for dinner. It makes me feet so guilty, because I know they don’t have much, but Dolora won’t let me pay her back—believe me, I’ve tried. I wish she’d let me pay. I just don’t want to take from them when they have so little to give.

 

21 December 1611

Simonn probably won’t come to Dolora and Sigmun’s again until after Epiphany. His other family comes to town for the time and he’s got four little siblings to wrangle. Whenever Simonn’s with his siblings on festival days in the city, I see him laughing and I see them acting like he’s their parent. That’s why I want siblings; I want something like that.

Anyways, despite a feeling of impending doom all day (I have no idea what that was about), not much happened.

Dolora says her friend might be coming for Christmas next year (she has friends in the city she writes to), I certainly hope so! I’d love to meet someone from the city. And I’d bet Dolora’s friends are interesting and clever, too.

Oh, and we were reading today and Sigmun put his arm around me and I felt all shivery inside, but he pulled his arm back almost right away. I wonder what that’s all about.

 

22 December 1611

Sigmun and I searched the woods for winter flowers and berries and things for Dolora’s gift. He talked about how lovely winter is and how come nothing could be easy. I asked what he meant and he just said that changing things was so hard, that so many people get pushed down and it’s so hard to change. I agree, but he always talks this way and it always worries me. I care, and I want things to change, but I also want him and all of us to be safe.

 

23 December 1611

Mother cooked the turkey today and I know it’ll be cold and dry by Christmas, but she does it this way every year. Maybe she knows how drunk she’ll be Christmas day. I sure do.

Sigmun and I practiced Russian today and I have the alphabet down cold. Now it’s just a matter of stitching sentences together and verb conjugations and pronunciation. I love languages and I think this’ll be fun.

 

24 December 1611

Sigmun and I practiced calligraphy today and I can tell he’s excited. He’s probably happy because it’s Christmas tomorrow and I was happy while I was there because seeing him happy makes me happy, even when I’m sad like this.

I’m dreading Christmas. It’s supposed to be happy, but it’s the worst day of the year. I don’t even know if I’ll bother getting up. There’s nothing that’ll make it better.

 

25 December 1611

I made Dolora’s Yorkshire pudding today. And I found some turkey Mother cooked exactly two days ago and I made up two plates and I brought one into Mother’s room and she sort of slurred something at me and threw a pillow at my head (which I dodged). I also lit the four Advent candles and I ate Christmas dinner by myself like always. Mother’s always drunk on Christmas. She wants Father to come home and he never does, so she drinks until she stumbles to bed (around noon) and I eat dinner by myself.

Simonn has Christmas with his brothers and sister and mother and father and they have a real dinner with presents and everything. Sigmun and Dolora have their little Christmas together and they give each other gifts. I’ve got my drunk mother and my missing father and my lonely Christmas dinners with cold turkey and no one to give a gift to.

 

26 December 1611

I don’t usually go over to Sigmun’s the day after Christmas, but he showed up at my house with that cloak he always wears in winter and knocked on the door and asked if I wanted to come over (I wonder if he suspects I dread this season). I wanted to (believe me, I did), but Mother was sick from drinking. So I told Sigmun that I couldn’t and he asked why and I said it was Mother and he asked me what about my mother and I…I started crying because Mother’s always drunk and I’m always alone on Christmas and it’s just cold turkey and drunk shouting and four candles and me.

Sigmun kind of hugged me awkwardly and he helped me inside to the couch and I just cried onto his shoulder for the longest time and he looked really confused but he wrapped his cloak around me and let me cry until I could talk again.

“It’s Mother.”

“What?”

“…Every year on Christmas, Mother cooks turkey on the twenty-third and waits for Father to come home for Christmas Eve. And he never does…he never does. So Mother gets drunk and locks herself in her room and screams at me when I bring her a plate and I light the four candles and eat dinner at the table and…all of you have families and presents and proper meals on Christmas and I just want a normal Christmas like everyone else!”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Maybe we could’ve done something.”

“Because Mother gets drunk. I can’t just go talking about it.”

“Well…you could come over for Christmas next year.”

“What about Mother?”

“Would she notice if you’re gone?”

“She usually tells me that she’ll kill me if I try to steal her things. She thinks I’m a robber…except once she thought I was Father. But I gave her the plate and she changed her mind and thought I was her great-aunt Annabelle.”

“So…she wouldn’t.”

“Suppose not.”

“Then why not leave her with a plate and come eat dinner with us? Mama would definitely let you come.”

I started crying again and Sigmun started hugging me again and I’m so glad he was there because I guess I never really considered that I really ought to worry about taking care of myself, too, instead of spending all my time and energy on my mother. I mean, I suppose she still needs help, but she doesn’t even remember Christmas day.

Maybe I could have a nice Christmas for once.

 

27 December 1611

I didn’t go to Sigmun’s yesterday because Mother started vomiting and he had to leave because Dolora expected him home. But I went today and I guess Sigmun told Dolora about Mother because she just wrapped me up in a really tight hug and she didn’t let me go for a long, long time. And she handed me a little bracelet and said, “Happy Christmas, Dianna.” I don’t think she knows how much that meant. No one’s ever said Happy Christmas to me before.

Simonn didn’t come, because he never comes between the twenty-second and the twenty-eighth. But Dolora set out a really fancy lunch of Christmas leftovers (I think) and she insisted we all sit down to eat it. I almost started crying again because usually for lunch Simonn and I bring food from home and Sigmun finds something and we eat in the woods or in his room sort of casually, if at all. I sit down with Mother for dinner but all she does is nag me about getting married and “meeting with those boys” because they’ll “corrupt my morals” and “lead me down the path of sin.” How can this be bad? How can a meal with my best friend and his mother that actually makes me happy be bad? Not to mention Mother’s always got this “lovely boy you really ought to meet” because he’s “a good man” with “strong morals” who’ll be able to “support you so you can care for him.”

I don’t think that’s what marriage is supposed to be for, but then, what do I know? I just have this weird little intuition that tells me marriage is supposed to be not about a man with money and woman who belongs to him, but about two people who fall in love and want to spend their lives together.

Maybe I’m just a romantic.

 

28 December 1611

Such a long day today. I went to Sigmun’s and stayed there with Simonn and Sigmun in the morning and afternoon and that was nice, but then I had to go home and run errands for three hours and then I had to work up the courage and ask Mother what to do about the monthly bleeding and I am just so tired. I don’t want to do anything but lie in bed for a week. I just want to sleep and not wake up for days.

 

30 December 1611

Okay. Here is a list of my New Year’s resolutions.  
1\. Learn to sew properly  
2\. Keep up this journal!  
3\. Write a story or a poem  
4\. Spend Christmas with Sigmun and Dolora  
5\. Tell Sigmun I really like him (somehow)  
6\. Figure out how to tell Mother I don’t want to get married yet

 

31 December 1611

Revisions:  
1\. Learn to sew better  
2\. Keep up this journal and get a new one when it runs out of pages  
3\. Write a story or poem or both  
4\. Spend Christmas with Sigmun and Dolora  
5\. Tell Sigmun I love him  
6\. Tell Mother I don’t want to get married yet


	5. New Year

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't like them keeping secrests from me. I’m always the odd one out and I’d rather not feel that way within my own group of best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to start tagging anything in the chapters in the beginning authors notes. This chapter has some violence in it.

1 January 1612

Today was such a fun day! Sigmun and Simonn and I went skating (that’s what we call it, even though none of us can afford skates), and the river was almost entirely frozen over! When it’s like that, besides the fact that we have to keep moving to stay warm, we can skate over this huge expanse of ice and it’s just a lot of fun. And I think a new year is a day to celebrate, because it’s like starting over from a place that maybe wasn’t so good and then going somewhere new. I want to be somewhere new by the end of the year.

We didn’t study today. Simonn said he can only come over today and tomorrow and maybe the next day, but then it’s Epiphany and he’s got to celebrate that with his family. Mother usually makes a cake for Epiphany (I hope I’m spelling it right), but she only makes me stay home for dinner, so it’s not too bad.

I sometimes wonder why there are three kings, and why they all have light skin in pictures. People who live in Africa usually have dark skin, I think, so shouldn’t the three kings have dark skin? And I think that there should’ve been at least one queen. I think Mary would’ve appreciated a sympathetic friend, instead of incense. It just seems strange to me.

Anyways, we went skating and then, when it started snowing, we climbed the big pine tree in the clearing as high as we could and just sat and watched the snow fall. I love watching snow tumble from the clouds, because you can’t quite see where it’s coming from. I like to imagine that angels make snowflakes when they’re bored and toss them to Earth for us to enjoy. I know that’s not true, but I’d like to think so.

Sigmun looks so nice with snowflakes in his hair and eyelashes. I just love him so much! And that smile he has, that bright, wide smile, it lights up his whole face and makes me feel like I’m flying. I wonder if he could tell I was staring? I certainly hope not.

I almost forgot! I tried to write a poem today, but it didn’t turn out so well, so I’m not going to put it here. I tried something called a sonnet and it just sounded all wrong, so I threw it in the fire. I’ll come up with something better tomorrow.

 

2 January 1612

Is it possible that I’m just really bad at poetry? I tried again today. I tried to write about trees, because poets write about nature, but it didn’t turn out so well. I wonder if I could write about the snow, about watching it fall and the glistening flakes landing in Sigmun’s hair and catching in the pine needles and decorating the whole world. I suppose it’s worth a try.

But that’s a task for another day. Today, we skipped studying again in favor of playing in the woods. Sigmun and Simonn talked me into climbing to the treetops and jumping around. It was dangerous and probably very stupid, but also…its was fun and I felt this rush of energy surge through my whole body and I loved it. None of us got hurt, luckily, and of course the old callouses on my hands and feet protected me from scrapes. Winter boots make it hard to climb trees, but we managed. And there’s nothing in the world I’d rather do than spend time with my best friends. 

 

3 January 1612

Dolora told me that tomorrow, she’ll help me brush my hair. She tells me things like this so it’s clear she’s telling more than asking, but I know she worried about the fact that I can’t brush my hair on my own. There’s just too much hair; it’s a practical matter. Maybe what I mean is that she worries because Mother doesn’t care enough to help. 

We read another chapter of the novel today and I think adventure is my second-favorite genre, just after romance. And I like this book, with all the symbolism and beautiful description and complicated characters. It seems like they’re real people and I think that’s why I love novels; it’s a whole world in just the thin pages of a book. 

 

4 January 1612

That was a task. Dolora had me sit in a chair like always and she did the right side of my hair and I did what I could with the left (because I use my right hand for most things). I’m glad Simonn and Sigmun left to check on the garden and the herb patches in the woods because I think I’d faint if Sigmun helped me brush my hair because I’m sure he’d be all gentle like he is and he’d tell me I have nice hair and I wouldn’t be able to take that because I know he means it as a platonic compliment and I don’t want to give myself false hope. 

So now my hair is reasonably brushed-out, the point where Mother asked me if I’d used hair thinner without asking her and got very upset. I really like having smooth hair and I wish I didn’t have to spend hours brushing it out. I wonder what it would feel like to have Sigmun touching my hair if he loved me. I bet it would feel wonderful and I bet he’d be all gentle and tender like he is and I bet he’d be nice about my hair even though it is admittedly rather thick and ugly and not the pretty color of brown Mariek or Hannah has. My mind wanders to things like this all the time and I can’t help but wonder what it would be like if Sigmun loved me. 

It’d be nice. 

 

6 January 1612

I had another nightmare and I don’t know why. In this one, Sigmun did love me and as far as I could tell, it was my usual swimming dream. But then my skirt got heavy and I couldn’t seem to keep myself afloat so I tried to grab onto Sigmun, but he shoved me away and said, “You’re so stupid! What, did you think anyone could ever love you? You?” My head went underwater and I couldn’t breathe and everything went all distorted and I tried to swim for the surface, but Sigmun held my head underwater and I looked up, like I was going to say something to him or maybe just catch a glimpse of the sun, but everything was pitch black and I was terrified. I tried and tried to breathe, but I couldn’t. All I could hear was rushing water and Sigmun laughing at me and someone screaming and then I woke up and I realized I’d been screaming and Mother was yelling at me. 

I don’t know why I had that nightmare and I wish I could stop thinking about it. I know that even though Sigmun doesn’t love me (he can’t), he’s my friend and he wouldn’t do something that horrible, anyways. I was pretty jumpy today because I didn’t get back to sleep and I wasn’t tired because that nightmare made me so stressed. I don’t know what I’d do if I started drowning for real, either. 

Today was Epiphany (oh joy). Mother made that cake and I avoided her most of the day by reading more poetry at Sigmun and Dolora’s house. The cake wasn’t half bad, but Mother forgot to put the almond in again and she got mad at me for it. I wasn’t even in the house when she baked the cake and she’s blaming me. How does that make sense? 

 

7 January 1612

I hate that the nightmare is still occupying my thoughts. It’s ridiculous. I trust my friends and I know Sigmun would never be like that. He doesn’t lie, he doesn’t hurt people, and he’d never purposefully drown someone. Never. I firmly believe it. But I feel tense and I can tell I’ve been irritable towards my friends. I wish I could talk to someone without feeling this heavy guilt and shame. Simonn and Sigmun talk so freely about things and I wish I could do that. 

I don’t think I wish for much, really. I wish for love, and for someone to talk to, and for maybe a little less shame. I wish for women and people with dark skin to be allowed to do the things men with light skin can do. I wish for people to treat everyone the same. I wish I could be allowed to choose who touches me. 

Maybe that is too much to wish for. 

We read the next chapter of the novel. Right now, the hero is fighting the villain on a mountain and the villain has the hero pinned on the edge of a cliff. Of course they’re both men. But I quite like the book anyways. 

 

8 January 1612

We got back to studying today. Simonn talked us into reading that physics book he likes so much and I didn’t fall asleep at all. I think I actually understood some of it this time. The overall force on something is connected to how hard you push it. I don’t know why the man who wrote the book felt the need to write that down; everyone knows that. Maybe it’s because he came up with the numbers to count it exactly? The point is, I’m not quite as lost as I was and I’m certainly glad for that. 

I’ve taken to daydreaming during dinner when Mother’s nagging and I usually let my mind drift to a little dream world with Sigmun and me and sometimes my other friends, a world where it never storms hard enough to break houses and mothers and fathers love their children and my love loves me back and I don’t feel so lonely. 

 

9 January 1612

I went to run errands today and I’ve never hated the market so much. I’m sick of men calling me sweetheart and sugar and then shouting names like bitch and whore when I walk away with my head down and my stomach in knots. It makes me want to cry because I just don’t want them touching me and I didn’t think that was so wrong but now I do. Is it wrong that I don’t like this sort of thing? I know I’m supposed to be flattered, even flirtatious back. But I feel uncomfortable, and upset, and even a little angry. What I do feel and what I’m supposed to feel don’t match up. They never have and I doubt they ever will. I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to feel sometimes. 

We read some poetry today and I liked it a lot. I like poetry because sometimes it just speaks right to your soul, without stopping at your mind. My soul remembers things better than my mind sometimes and anyways, I just can’t always trust my mind these days. 

 

10 January 1612

I met my girl friends in the market today in the afternoon and we just talked things over like we do. Neolla’s application for Yangsley’s was accepted under the name Nelson Redglare. Mariek’s mother is ill, possibly with consumption, and she won’t admit it. Mariek said she’s going to start sneaking medicine into her mother’s food because her mother won’t listen to anyone who says she’s ill. Candas came to the village today, and she’s fighting for her spot as heir to the throne with a second cousin once removed in Russia she never knew she had. Hannah’s the same as ever, except her father is trying to set her up to marry a forty-year-old man from…Austria? Or maybe Hungary? The point is that she’s met him once and he doesn’t speak our language. It doesn’t really surprise me. Hannah’s father is always rather grumpy and I think it’s because Hannah has two sisters (one older and one younger) and no brothers. A lot of my friends have lots of sisters and it makes me sad to think that their parents don’t love them just because of that. 

At any rate, we just talked about things for a while and helped Neolla practice her voice for Yangsley’s and gossiped about the other girls (I know it’s not nice to gossip, but…) and played this little game we have where one of us describes something or someone as subjectively and poorly as we can and the others guess it. I didn’t do so well at guessing, but I did pretty well with describing because I described the river and no one got it. 

 

12 January 1612

I had a dream last night and I don’t remember what it was about but when I woke up, I was afraid. 

Mother tried to give me all these criticisms about my hair and my face and my body and my clothes. At least she doesn’t make me wear makeup. I don’t like how it feels, all sticky and thick and toxic. I just feel like it’s toxic; is that odd? Anyways, I know Mariek and Hannah quite like makeup and I can’t fault them for that. I think it’s just your choice. 

We studied a chapter of the novel today and Simonn said that why did good always have to beat evil, couldn’t it be the other way around to mix it up? And Sigmun said good has to beat evil, or else we’ll lose hope for humanity. And I said that good beats evil because it’s a book and we want good to win to make us believe that good can win because in real life, evil does win a lot. 

I don’t at all mind good beating evil in books because evil seems to have long since won in real life. 

 

13 January 1612

I’m afraid he’ll figure out I love him, pretend to love me back, and then break my heart. I know it’s irrational, because he’s kind and he wouldn’t do something like that and he’s my best friend. But I just…people outside my friends always seem like they have fun hurting me and I’m just scared of getting my heart broken. 

14 January 1612

There was a horrible snowstorm today and Dolora scolded me for walking the mile to her house in the driving snow. I know it’s because she cares. Mother didn’t even notice I left. 

Actually, Mother spent a good deal of time “advising” me on what I should be doing with my time, and evidently it’s not “try to get some sort of education” or “let those awful friends lead you astray” or “be with those boys”. Boys aren’t bad by nature and I don’t know why Mother says they are. Some of them aren’t kind, but then some girls aren’t kind, either. Like Mother. 

 

15 January 1612

Sigmun seemed anxious today and I think he had some sort of nightmare because he kept jumping at seemingly random things; the sound of a book being dropped, when I set down my cup and it clicked against Simonn’s, the shelf that’s full of books with red covers. I know all too well that weird dreams can make you jumpy about all sorts of things. I hope he’s alright. 

We studied Russian today, and some history too. The verb conjugations aren’t so hard for me, and the irregulars aren’t so bad to memorize. Simonn’s struggling, but he always has trouble with languages. 

 

16 January 1612

I feel so lonely some days. I know there are people who love me, and people who apparently like my company (though heaven knows why), but…

I suppose it’s like this. If I’d never been born, who would care? Not my parents, birth or adoptive. Simonn and Sigmun would have each other and Dolora. Neolla and Mariek and Hannah and my other village friends would have each other. Grantt and Orvill and Candas, the same. The giggly girls in the village wouldn’t care. Others in the village wouldn’t give a damn. I don’t mean anything to anyone. Sometimes I think they wouldn’t notice if I died. 

We studied the novel and the heroine has just been saved and I can’t help but wonder: what if she didn’t want to be rescued?

 

18 January 1612

We did physics today from that books by…Newton! That’s his name. But I don’t remember the title anymore. It’s Simonn’s favorite book. (Mine is Lost at Sea and Sigmun’s is Last Words.) 

I walked in and they were having this whispered conversation upstairs and Dolora smiled like she knew what was going on and I just think that there’s a secret being kept from me, or at least like they don’t want me around. No one wants me around. 

It’s rather disheartening. 

 

19 January 1612

This is going to sound silly, but today when Simonn was reading and I was half-asleep (I had another nightmare), I heard Sigmun stand up and say he was going to get a glass of water, so of course what did I do but try to sit up and end up rolling off the couch? I crashed on the ground on my back and I felt like I’d been punched in the stomach for some reason. And of course I felt completely stupid because I’d just managed to fall off a couch and completely lose my breath and Sigmun was watching. 

Simonn snorted into the book he was reading (we studied some history today) and covered his mouth like he does when he’s trying not to laugh. But Sigmun held out his hand to help me up and I took it and he pulled me to standing and I didn’t want to let go of his hand, but I kind of had to. So I sat back down on the couch and Sigmun went to get his glass of water and Simonn gave me another one of those raised-eyebrow looks and I gave him another glare. He just helped me up, like a friend would. It’s not his fault that when he smiled that beautiful smile that doesn’t quite fit on his face in the best way, his eyes flashed crimson and my mind melted because he has the best smile. I’m sure I blushed, which is silly because I’ve spent pretty much every day with him since I was seven and there is absolutely no reason to be flustered over him helping me up, none at all. There’s no reason to get nervous that his hand was warm and a little bit sweaty and his grip was tight and I could feel his hand shaking just a bit and his face looked a little flushed and…he’s just very good looking. 

I don’t know why his face was flushed like that, either. Why would he be flustered about just helping me up? Why would he be at all nervous about something like that? And why would he not want to let go of my hand? I could feel reluctance in his grip and I just don’t know why he’d want to hold my hand. Why would he want to spend time with me? 

And now I’ve analyzed this single, stupid moment in time to bits and I’ve extracted every possible lack of meaning from the few minutes it took for me to fall off a couch and my best friend to help me up. I’d like to rationalize everything by saying that he loves me, but that can’t be. It just can’t be. 

 

20 January 1612

I heard this whispered conversation today between Sigmun and Simonn and I’m…I’m just really upset that they’re keeping secrets from me. I only heard a few words. 

“…staring at you.”

“Was not!” 

“Look, I don’t know if you’ve lost a good chunk of your mind since turning sixteen, but…” Then I couldn’t hear for a little. 

I heard just a couple more things. “…completely obvious, it’s like a glass window in the palace.”

“Shut up.” Pause. “Swear you won’t tell?”

“Haven’t I every single damn time we have this stupid conversation?”

“Just swear it.”

“I promise.”

So I guess they’re keeping some secret they talk about sometimes. I don’t expect them to tell me everything, but it’s just kind of upsetting that I’m the odd one out again. I feel like even Dolora knows. I suppose they’ll probably tell me at some point. I’ve always told them my secrets. (Except that I haven’t told Sigmun I love him, but that’s different. Very, very different.) Anyways, I remember that last time something like this happened, it turned out Simonn was planning revenge on me for pushing him into the river once (I was twelve). 

Oh, and we studied Austrian history today. I found it somewhere between learning Russian and practicing geometry in terms of interest. 

 

21 January 1612

I had another nightmare last night. It was almost the same as the one from before, with the drowning. When my skirt started to feel heavy, I clung to Sigmun like last time, but he said, “You’re pathetic! Absolutely pathetic! Did you think you deserved love? You?” And I wanted to cry because I don’t think I deserve love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want it. And then there was this huge crack of thunder and a storm started and the river was rollicking like the ocean and I started drowning and I didn’t bother to try to swim up but I could feel his hands holding me underwater and I couldn’t breathe and I woke up breathing like I’d run twenty miles. I don’t know why it was different, and I don’t know why I dreamed it again, and I don’t know why I’m even having these nightmares in the first place. I hate them, more than I’ve ever hated anything in my life. I don’t like hating things, but I absolutely despise these nightmares. 

We studied medical science today, and though I don’t like looking at drawings of the insides of dead people, it was rather interesting. I suppose things can be interesting, even if I don’t particularly like them myself. 

 

22 January 1612

I was very shaken today because my nightmare last night was one of the worst I’ve ever had. It didn’t even make sense, except that it focused on one of my worst fears. 

In the dream, I was going to tell him I love him. I was sure it was real, in the dream, even more than I normally am. I was just going to go up to him and tell him and kiss him like Simonn said I should. So I was talking to him, and I said, “Sigmun, I love you.” And I thought it would turn out alright! If he didn’t love me that way, I could tell him I meant it platonically. But he didn’t. 

First, he laughed, and I was confused. Then he shoved me away, which hurt a good deal, and he said, “I hate you! I hate everything about you!” His face contorted from laughter to rage. “Did you really think I would ever love you? You’re ugly, and you’re stupid and shallow and cowardly and useless and weak and bad at everything! You’re awful and mean and I hate you!” And then Simonn was there, laughing at how stupid I’d been to take his advice, and I couldn’t stand up, and then I woke up and I realized I was fighting my blanket like my worst enemy. Then I realized I was crying. At least I wasn’t screaming. 

I don’t know why I’ve been having so many more nightmares lately. I know nightmares happen when you’re upset about something in real life, and I can’t think of anything I’m upset about besides that my friends are keeping secrets from me and the fact that I’m unloved and that I’m even having these nightmares in the first place. 

Does that count as stress?

Anyways, we studied some German history today and I liked it a good deal better than medical science. 

 

23 January 1612

No nightmares last night, thank heaven. I’ve been admittedly ruder than usual to Mother because she’s mad about my lack of self-grooming. I think I’m keeping myself in fine shape: I bathe four times a year, I change my clothes every day, I brush my hair properly once in a while and finger-brush it every day, I eat and drink enough to feel full, and I generally keep myself looking fine. But Mother wants me to wear makeup because I have a year and a half to find a “suitable husband”. I don’t like makeup! I just don’t. I don’t care even if Sigmun would think I’m pretty (or at least less ugly) with it on. I dress and keep clean for myself, no one else. We got into an argument about it, actually. 

“I’m not going to wear makeup!”

“Why not? You’ll look a bit less respectable with it on!”

“I thought that it made me look like a prostitute?”

“When you were fourteen, you useless child!” 

“Oh, and it’s all so different now!”

“Yes it is! Put that makeup on right now or so help me—”

“I won’t!” 

“Fine! Go around looking like a pathetic, ugly, useless slave!”

“Now who’s being sarcastic?”

“GO TO YOUR ROOM!”

“FINE!” I ran upstairs and slammed my door and I wanted to never leave again. 

We studied Russian and we have most of the verb conjugations down pat. I think I’ll be able to do sentences soon. I certainly hope so! I think Russian will be a fun language to speak. 

 

24 January 1612

I can’t stop thinking about how it would feel to kiss him. I wonder if his skin is soft and smooth, or calloused and rough from cold, or warm with a little stubble like men’s faces are when they start growing up. (Sigmun and Simonn both have some hair on their faces and I find that rather handsome.) I wonder if he would touch my hair, or even thread his fingers through it the way I long to do with his. I wonder how that messy, almond-colored hair of his feels, if it’s like the late autumn leaves whose color it so resembles, or thick and warm and a little soft, or smooth and silky and lovely like I imagine. I wonder how his body would feel pressed against mine that way. I bet he’d feel like something between the warmth of the fire and the comfort of a nice summer rain, and maybe a little bit of the exhilaration of lightning. I bet he’d feel wonderful. 

If he ever does kiss me, either because I’m the only girl around or for practice kissing (I’m sure it’s one of those things you have to practice), what would I do? I’d want to press my lips to his as had as I can and feel his hair between my fingers and wrap my arms around his shoulders. I’d want to kiss him the way you kiss someone when you love them with all your heart. But I don’t think I’d want to do that to him, because he’d want to kiss me the way you kiss someone on a dare. 

We studied physics today and I’m even less lost this time and I’m very proud of that. I may have actually accomplished something for once in my life. 

 

25 January 1612

Russian today. I got a simple sentence right and I helped Sigmun and Simonn understand it. I never really meant to stare at Sigmun while he was crafting his letters so nicely, but I did and he looked up suddenly and I hope he didn’t notice the awful blush rebelling against my wishes by turning my face bright red. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was blushing, too. Simonn caught my eye and mouthed, “Just tell him already!” I just glared at him and mouthed, “I will!” He rolled his eyes and gave up, for the time being. I just can’t tell him yet; I’m too afraid. 

 

27 January 1612

I had that nightmare again. In the beginning, Simonn was there too, but then he left and Sigmun and I were swimming around and he told me he loved me and I told him I loved him and I kissed him and everything felt happy and light and wonderful. But then I couldn’t seem to stay afloat and I slipped away from him and then he grabbed my arm and dug his nails into my skin and hissed, “You stupid bitch! You really think love is real? It’s not! It never has been!” And he shoved my head under and I couldn’t breathe and I woke up and I was crying silently. 

We studied chemistry today. It wasn’t really that memorable. 

Oh, and I found my baby blanket. It was under my bed somehow. I wonder how that happened? Anyways, it’s old and dusty and ratty, but it still feels like it did when I was three and Mother tried to make me give it up the first time. I guess she never knew I hid it to make her think I’d listened. Back when I listened to her…

I’m keeping it. I’m sixteen years old and I’m keeping my baby blanket. 

 

28 January 1612

I came over and Simonn and Sigmun were whispering like a couple of nine-year-olds again and I’m just getting upset because every time I come over, they give me this look like I’m the kid who keeps interrupting her older sibling’s friends. I thought we were friends! I’m pretty sure friends don’t look at friends like that. 

Oh, and Mother yelled at me about my ugly face today. I endured it for a while before I couldn’t hold back crying anymore and I ran to my room and slammed the door. I hate her sometimes. I hate, hate, hate her for what she does to me. I seem to remember liking myself when I was little and I know that was silly, because I’m not someone worth liking, but I felt better about things then. At least, I think I did. 

 

30 January 1612

Mother screamed at me today because I don’t wear makeup and we had an argument about it. 

“I don’t want to wear makeup!”

“You’re hopeless, absolutely hopeless! Just put on some damn makeup!”

“No!”

“You’re not leaving the house without some on!” She blocked the door and I had no choice but to put some of that goop on. I smeared it on the way I know Mother thinks I should and ran past Mother and all the way to Sigmun and Dolora’s and I was trying so hard not to cry, but I couldn’t help it after so long. Once I got there, my only place of safety, I ran past them whispering and I started scrubbing my face with water and a washcloth because it’s not fair and I don’t like makeup and I gave into Mother and…I don’t know. 

“Dianna? What’s going on?” Sigmun called. 

“Nothing.” 

“Liar,” Simonn said. 

“It’s just…it’s just some makeup.” I kept scrubbing my face raw. The water in the wash basin was almost completely white, a little pink from the rouge. I checked my face in the mirror and I couldn’t tell if it was all gone, so I rubbed some more. 

Sigmun wandered in and said, “But you never wear makeup; you said you hate it.” 

“Yeah, well, Mother thinks I should.” I didn’t want him to see my raw, red, makeup-stained face, so I turned away and stared down at the wash basin. 

“Since when have you ever let her be in charge of your life?” Sigmun asked, and I could tell he was trying to be encouraging, reminding me that Mother never has ruled my life. 

“She said I couldn’t leave the house without makeup on, okay?”

“Oh. Want any help?”

“I’m fine.” 

“Alright.” But he didn’t leave. Simonn wandered into the kitchen too, and they sat there and made small talk while I scrubbed my face. 

“I think your face is probably clean,” Simonn said after a while. “I think that red is probably because you’ve scrubbed off a layer of skin or seven.” 

“I don’t want any of that stuff on my face.”

“Fair enough,” Sigmun said. “But I think you’ve probably got it off.” 

I sighed, because my face still felt dirty, but they were right and anyways, it was starting to hurt. I mean, it hurt from the start, but a lot of things hurt and I’m used to it. “Fine. Let’s read a novel today, alright?” 

“Alright,” Sigmun agreed. Simonn just nodded. 

Mother didn’t notice my lack of makeup because she was drinking again at dinner. I sat quiet as a mouse while she drank and yelled and talked about her stupid adoptive daughter, the useless girl, who was resisting every attempt to be made more marriable. I wish there was someone who loved me the way I think a mother ought to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment! I really appreciate it.


	6. Whispers

1 February 1612

I had that stupid nightmare again last night. In this once, he was kissing me when I starting sinking and he pulled away from me like I was a snake and when I tried to kiss him again, he covered my mouth and said, “You’re so stupid! I can’t believe how gullible you are, you useless thing! Useless, helpless, hopeless!” He shoved my head underwater and I couldn’t swim up and I couldn’t breathe, but I fought for my life. Nothing came of it and I woke up afraid and breathing hard. 

They weren’t whispering today, but Sigmun looked surprised when I walked in and I think he was thinking about their secret. I don’t even have a clue of what it might be! I just wish I weren’t so in the dark about things. 

 

2 February 1612

My chest hurt today for some unknown reason and that was just generally irritating, especially because there is not a thing I can do about it. I can’t lie on my stomach anymore, especially to sleep, and that’s also annoying. I thought women are supposed to have beautiful shapes, but mine isn’t. I always thought I’d grow into a nice shape, but I haven’t. And I haven’t been growing so much, so I’m probably going to stop soon. I used to think that even though my face and hair and everything else about is awful, maybe I’d grow up nice. But no; here I am with red splotches all over my face and an awful, disproportioned shape and ugly features still. I’ve resigned myself to looking like this when I’m grown up properly and I just hope something, some miracle, will prompt a change. 

We studied math today and I found it to be of moderate difficulty; not too hard, but definitely a challenge. I liked it.

 

4 February 1612

I had a dream of the two girls I don’t quite recognize last night. The two talked back and forth briefly before the older ran to me and her mouth started moving, trying to tell me something clearly important to her. Her little one (a little girl, I think) was reaching for her hair, tugging at the long locks, but she just kept trying to talk to me. Once she realized I had no idea what she was saying, she took a step back and rocked her baby for a moment or two before she motioned for her sister to join her. Then she gently passed her baby to her sister and hugged me as if I was someone she loved and hadn’t seen in years. I heard a whispering and I knew it was her voice. She was older than me by a good few years, maybe twenty or twenty-five, but something about her made her seem my peer. Her sister, who looked about my age, looked at me like I was an incarnation of a story she’d been told over and over. 

The older girl, after talking for a long time, hugged me again and whispered something. I heard it; it’s the only time I’ve heard her voice. She just whispered, “Thank you.” Then I woke up. 

I’m confused. What’s she thanking me for? I’ve never seen her in my life. I haven’t done anything for her worth thanking me for. I guess she must be someone from my future? But why would I be dreaming about her? No, how would I be dreaming about her? How could I be dreaming about the future? I just want to know who the mystery girls who inhabit my dreams are. 

 

5 February 1612

Mother tried to get me to wear makeup again today, but I dodged around her and made it outside without any. I guess that part of this whole thing is that I don’t want to give into Mother. I don’t want her to control my life. I have my own life and I want to be in charge of it! 

The red blotches on my face have been slowly subsiding and I think I’m past the worst of it (which I think was in October). I certainly hope so. Besides being ugly, those blotches are quite painful. 

 

7 February 1612

It’s surprising how flustered it can make me to just think about Sigmun sometimes. It’s not always, but…sometimes. Like today, when I was sitting with Mother at dinner, and I started daydreaming about a lovely little scene in which Sigmun and I were the clearing with the pine tree, just having a picnic, and it was very nice. It was just a little daydream that was romantic, and sweet, and only a little guilty. But I guess Mother could tell I wasn’t paying attention, because she banged her fist on the table and yelled, “Dianna Leijon! What are you daydreaming about?”

“N-Nothing, Mother…”

“Liar! Is it some boy? It’s that boy you used to follow around, isn’t it? Isn’t it?”

“No! I was just, just…I-I was thinking about…about…” 

“Liar!” She slapped me and said, “Go to your room and don’t come out until you tell me what you were thinking about!” I did, because my face was stinging, and I curled up on my bed and just sat there, a little cold and a little sad. Normally, I can lie much better than that to avoid Mother. I mean, I really have no choice. What’s wrong with me?

We studied physics today. It’s rather sweet how excited Simonn gets and how lost Sigmun is. At least we two are on the same page when it comes to physics. 

 

9 February 1612

What’s the worst that could happen if I tell him I love him? He could say he loves me, too, which I set at about zero percent likelihood and thus I don’t really need to fuss about it. He could say he loves me as a friend, in which case I tell him that’s what I meant, too, and just live with the heartbreak. That seems most likely. He could tell me he hates me, in which case I’ll probably just start crying because I couldn’t stand losing my friends (which I guess also applies if he doesn’t want to be friends anymore because I love him). Or he could pretend he loves me for the sake of shattering my heart, which would probably achieve its desired effect, and that’s the one I fear the worst, I don’t know what I’d do if that happened, and that scares me, too. I guess the worst that could happen is pretty bad. 

We studied Roman history today. It was quite interesting, and I rather liked it. 

 

10 February 1612

Mother seems to have given up on the makeup for now, but she made me do my hair up before I left. The only good that came from that is that when I got to Sigmun and Dolora’s, Sigmun said my hair looked lovely. He asked why it was done up all nice and I told him it was Mother, but I did it myself. I think it was very sweet of him to say that, especially because I have awful hair and doing it up doesn’t really do much. Simonn noticed, too, but he just asked why I’d spent the time to do my hair up unless I was meeting a boy or something. He did that on purpose, I know it. 

“I’m not meeting a boy!”

“Oh? Do you love someone?” Simonn asked. 

“Shut up. I’m not telling you!” He knows already. 

“Why not?” Sigmun complained. 

“Because you wouldn’t shut up about it!” 

“Not fair!”

“You didn’t tell me.” 

Sigmun sighed jokingly and said, “Fine. But I get to choose the book!”

“You chose yesterday!” Simonn said. “It’s Dianna’s turn.” 

I chose a “bodice-ripper” romance just to annoy Simonn. I like that sort of book, anyways. Poor Simonn; he looked irritated the entire time (we’ve never read a book like that before) and I just made a face because I know he was trying to get me to confess to Sigmun that he was the only boy I wanted to meet anywhere. I really hate Simonn sometimes. (But not really.) 

 

12 February 1612

Beauty is funny to me. It’s so ephemeral and so contrived and so enviable. A certain set of characteristics are considered beautiful and if you don’t fit that, you can’t possibly be lovely the way another girl is. It’s like you have to make yourself into a nice little porcelain doll or no one will love you. And while I know that’s certainly not okay, because a lot of people do deserve love, I know that if I don’t fit those standards, I won’t be loved. And I can’t fit it because as much as I try, I just can’t be beautiful and I know I never will be. 

It is rather discouraging. 

We studied a novel today, one that was written to make a point, and the point was about how important it is to get the right sort of education. I think the right sort of education is different for everyone. Sigmun and Simonn and I have this sort of choice education. Dolora went to school, but I wonder where she got her real education, because a girl’s education isn’t like a boy’s education. No one tells a girl she can be clever, anyways. Anyways, Neolla’s going to have a school education, and Mariek’s is mostly on her own, without someone like Dolora to help be a teacher. Hannah can read, but it’s a secret, so she doesn’t much. I don’t know if she can write. I just think education is different for different people. 

 

13 February 1612

I had such a headache today, and I think it’s because I didn’t sleep, because I had that damn nightmare again. In this one, I was sitting on the edge of the river with Sigmun and I dived in first, but I couldn’t stay afloat. He dived in after me and I tried to hold onto him, but he shoved me into the current and I was struggling to stay afloat and he laughed and taunted, “What, you can’t stand the current? You’re ugly and no one will ever love you! You should just let the current kill you!” I slipped under, but he shoved me away and laughed while I drowned and then I woke up and I was terrified. 

We studied Russian language today and I really like languages. They’re just very interesting. 

 

15 February 1612

I had the nightmare again and I’m upset because it was awful. In this one, he made fun of me because of how awful I look, my ugly face and hair and the red blotches and my awful shape and a whole lot of other things I hate about myself. I woke up even more upset than usual. 

We studied a book of laws today and it was confusing, but I liked it. It was interesting. 

 

16 February 1612

Today has proved to me that people in general can be awful. I don’t mean all people, but it seems to me that when people get together and one of them isn’t nice, a whole bunch of very nice people don’t do very nice things at all.

But people can also be excellent. And kind. And brave. And maybe I’m one of the brave ones.

I wasn’t at Sigmun and Dolora’s for long because I had to find paprika and cooking knives in the market and it was hard. So I left early and headed for the market, which is where all of this happened. 

I finally found everything I needed just when it was getting dark and I headed for home, but I thought I heard Sigmun shouting something, so I turned to see if it was him. And it was him, but he was surrounded by a bunch of men in an alley and I thought he was bleeding. I could see him kind of…I don’t want to say cowering, but he kind of was cowering against the wall. They were shouting things like “bastard” and other words I don’t want to write. I heard him say, “G-Get away from me!” and he sounded properly afraid and really, who wouldn’t be; he was surrounded by at least seven men, all much taller than him, and when you’ve lost that much blood, the world doesn’t seem the way it is. I don’t know what exactly I was thinking, but I shoved one of them aside and stood in front of Sigmun and said, “GET AWAY FROM HIM!”

One of them sneered at me and said, “Aw, poor little girl. This your little boyfriend?”

“He’s my best friend and if you don’t leave him alone I’m not afraid to hurt you!”

“Oh, really? How?”

It is some beautiful, miraculous coincidence that I still had the cooking knives Mother told me to buy. I pulled one of them out of the canvas bag I always bring shopping and I didn’t even say anything.

One of them smirked and said, “Do you even know how to use that, sugar?”

The others started jeering at me, too, so I had to say something.

“I’ve got a few ideas.” I tightened my grip on the knife and I tried to sound menacing and I was scared, because I think if it really came down to it, I wouldn’t use the knife. I couldn’t.

But I guess I looked pretty scary, because I’m sure my anger was in my eyes and I know how to hold a knife (not because I use knives to hurt people but because I cook). They dispersed pretty quickly and I dropped the knife (I better wash it before Mother finds out) and tilted Sigmun’s head so I could see if he was hurt. “Are you alright? Sigmun, are you okay?”

“Dianna?”

“It’s me, Sigmun.” Dolora once told me that you can hit your head hard enough to hurt your mind, so I tested his memory. “What’s your name? Full name? Age?”

“Sigmun Vantas…sixteen.”

“Uh…conjugate avoir in passé composé.”

“What? Why?”

“Just do it.”

“J’ai eu, tu as eu, il elle on a eu, nous avons eu, vous avez eu, ils elles ont eu. There.”

“Okay, good. Come on,” I helped him up and said, “We’re going to your house. Your remember where it is, right?”

“Of course I do. Why?”

“I’m making sure you didn’t hit your head hard enough to lose your memory.”

“Oh.”

There was far too much blood on his clothes and in his hair and I was worried. I put one of his arms around my shoulders and supported his waist (because he’s gotten too tall for me to just carry him like I used to be able to) and I made sure he was conscious because I know it can be dangerous to fall asleep like that. I could tell he was barely keeping himself in one piece and I honestly wasn’t thinking about Mother or anything else but making sure he was alright.

We were near the square when a man I’ve never met before ran over to me and said, “What happened? Do you need help?”

“I need to get my best friend home,” I said. “He was attacked.”

The man nodded and put Sigmun’s other arm around his shoulders and supported his waist like I was and helped me half-carry him to Dolora’s. “Dianna?” Sigmun murmured.

“Don’t talk, okay? You need your breath.”

“…Okay.”

We got to Dolora and Sigmun’s and I knocked on the door as best as I could and I really was afraid because he seemed about ready to fall apart and the light from their house made the blood even more obvious.

Dolora opened the door and I could see that it took everything she had not to scream. She covered her mouth with one hand and I said, “There were these men attacking him so I scared them away with a knife and…”

Dolora nodded and helped me carry Sigmun inside. The man just left before I could tell him thank you.

Once she’d gotten him situated on the couch like she does so she can figure out what’s wrong, she sent me for herbs and water. I know where the herb cupboard is and where the water is, so I was quick. When I came back, he was crying and she was comforting him. “Dianna, willow and—no, not willow. Just some bandages and turmeric.”

I nodded and watched while she worked like she always did, serious and solemn and a bit detached. “Valerian root, Dianna, and a cup of water. Go make a cup of chamomile tea.”

I nodded again and went to make the tea, probably to help him sleep. I think Dolora knows more about being a doctor than most of the men with degrees because her herbs actually work very well and I don’t know anyone who knows more about medicine, just from watching.

Anyways, Dolora kind of muttered like she does and I heard, “Broken arm, definitely. Sprained wrist. Partial fracture in the forearm…multiple lacerations on the head and limbs. You’re lucky they didn’t hurt anything vital, little love.” Her tone switched from medical and detached to gentle and kind like someone snuffing out a candle.

“Dianna, stay right here. Make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. Is the tea brewing?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Good. I’m mixing up some herbs to help with the blood loss and pain.”

I nodded and pulled up another chair next to him.

“Hey,” I said, trying my best to sound kind. “You alright?”

He was still crying a little and I could see why. He had at least two broken bones and a sprain or two and there was a lot of blood. I don’t mind the sight of blood, but I can’t stand the smell. It smells like death and decay and pain and shame and everything that hurts. “…I’m fine.”

“No you’re not,” I said, and I tried to smile but I couldn’t. “What happened?” I figured if he was talking, maybe he wouldn’t fall asleep. I was afraid he’d die.

“I was just walking…I was walking home and I took the shortcut through the alley…then suddenly there were all these people around me and one of them…threw me against the wall and…they started hitting me and calling me a bastard and some other…things like that and I couldn’t do anything because…there were so many of them and…then you showed up and…you saved my life.”

“Any time.” I think I cried a tear or two. I was definitely choked up. I took his hand in both of mine and I could feel that his skin was colder than it should’ve been. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Just don’t fall asleep.”

“But I’m tired.”

“I know. But you can’t fall asleep.”

“Why not?”

“Because…Dolora said so. You just can’t fall asleep.”

“I’m so tired…”

“Hey,” I said. “How about you tell me a story?”

“You’ve lived most every story I could tell.”

“That doesn’t matter. How about you tell me the story of…of the time we were eight and we first found the river? That’s a good story.”

“You were there, though…”

“But I want to hear it again.”

“Well…okay.” I could barely hear his voice, and I could still hear the tears. “We were eight and we were excited…because we’d found the clearing with the pine tree, Simonn and you and me…and we decided to explore the woods a bit more. And then…just when we were about to head home, you said you heard water…So we followed the sound—” He coughed and I saw blood still staining his bandages. “And we found that huge, rushing river. So naturally…my first thought was to dive in.” He laughed a little and I remembered that day clear as the sun. “Simonn yelled at me not to, but I did anyways and you followed me and…we were so lucky that day because both of us landed in that eddy. And then…Simonn dived in and we barely floated around but we had started…swimming properly.” I felt his grip on my hand tighten. “It didn’t go so well the second time.” He tried to laugh, but he ended up coughing instead.

“Are you alright, Sigmun?”

“…I know you won’t believe me if I say I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding and broken. Of course I wouldn’t believe you.”

“Well, then, I guess…I’m not okay, but at least I’m not alone.”

I smiled properly and squeezed his hand tighter. I saw his eyes flutter a little and he coughed that heavy, bloodstained cough again. “…You’re really pretty,” he said, his voice slipping a little out of consciousness. 

“You’re delirious.” I said flatly. 

“’M not…” 

Dolora came back with some herb mix and a cup of tea. “Dianna, you can’t go home, it’s too dark out.”

“I have to, though. My mother…”

Dolora sighed. “Are you sure? It’s not safe.”

“I have to go home.”

“I’d offer to walk you, Dianna dear, but…” She looked over at Sigmun, who she obviously couldn’t leave.

“S’alright. I promise I’ll be careful.”

Dolora sighed again. “Alright, Dianna dear. But come over tomorrow so I know you’re okay.”

“I will, I promise.”

I got home and Mother glared at me and she told me in that scary tone that she’d deal with me tomorrow. It’s very late now and I’m tired and honestly I can’t believe I did that. What was I thinking? How…how did I have the courage to do something like that? I’m not brave, and I’m definitely not some sort of hero. I’m just me and I…I saved Sigmun’s life.

What on Earth has gotten into me?

 

17 February 1612

I don’t think it’s fair that those men attacked Sigmun just because he doesn’t have a father. It’s not his fault his parents weren’t married, and it’s not his fault his birth mother abandoned him, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to be attacked just for being born. 

I’ve got a nasty bruise on my cheek from Mother slapping me. But it’ll heal before long; I’ve had worse. It’s not that noticeable, anyways. And it’s nothing compared to Sigmun! 

I was early today, and Simonn late, so I was sitting with Sigmun (who had been forbidden to move from the couch) and reading a book of poetry when Simonn came in. He of course had no idea about the attack last night and when he saw Sigmun with all those bandages and some blood still in his hair, he looked pretty panicked. Of course he did; it’s the only reasonable reaction in that situation, I think. 

“What the hell happened?”

I looked at Sigmun. I wasn’t about to tell his story. 

“Well…a group of men kind of attacked me when I was going for spices in the village yesterday and then Dianna scared them off and helped get me home. That’s all.” 

“That’s all. You got attacked by some idiots who probably had weapons and you toss off a sentence and say, ‘That’s all’?”

“…Yeah.” 

There was a pause. The Simonn asked. “Did you cry?”

“No,” Sigmun said. Liar. I gave him a look when Simonn wasn’t paying attention, but I didn’t really mean it. 

Simonn rolled his eyes and sat against the bookshelf like he does. “So what’re we reading?”

“Poetry,” I said. “Your turn.”

“Seriously? This again?”

“It’s good poetry,” I argued. “I put up with your physics obsession.”

“You’re one to talk about obsessions.”

“Shut up.” 

“What d’you mean?” Sigmun asked. 

“Nothing,” I said. “We were on page fifty-three, Simonn.” 

We read the poetry book for the rest of the day, even though Simonn groaned and complained about it the whole time. Dolora had to change the bandages on Sigmun’s cuts once, and I suspect it’s a lot worse than he’s letting on, if the bloodstains on his cloak and the side of my dress he was pressed against are anything to go by. But then, he’d never just tell us if he was really hurt. It seems to me that men do that a rather lot, and I don’t know why. I certainly don’t think of my friends any different if they cry. Everyone cries; there’s nothing shameful about it. Then again, what do I know? 

 

18 February 1612

It’s been that sort of day. I had the nightmare again last night, and another one on top of that. This time, when I usually wake up breathing hard, instead I felt the pressure on me lessen and I snapped awake and I thought it was over. I thought I was awake in real life, so I got dressed and finger-brushed my hair and checked in the mirror to make sure I looked halfway decent and ate breakfast and grabbed my cloak off the hook and walked over to Sigmun and Dolora’s. 

When I got there, the house was gone. I mean, where their house always is was an empty field. The garden was gone, the fence around the garden to keep out bunnies was gone, the footpath from the back door to the woods that we’ve worn down over the years was gone, even the deer trail that takes us to the hills was gone. So I ran to the clearing with the pine tree for some reason and there were three gravestones with their names on them and a fourth next to an empty pit. I was about to run when someone or something shoved me into the pit and started pouring dirt on me until I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t even breathe. 

Then I woke up for real and actually went through my whole morning routine like I do. It should’ve been a clue to me in the dream that it was dream that my journal was on my desk. I never, ever leave my journal out. I’ve got more sense than that! 

I got to Sigmun and Dolora’s and Simonn and Sigmun were having one of those conversations again and when I walked in, Sigmun jumped and Simonn shut up and they both looked at me like I’d interrupted something and they just didn’t want to let on and I felt like the odd one out again and I just feel so lonely. I don’t even remember what we studied today. I just want to sleep my memories away. 

 

19 February 1612

I had the nightmare yet again last night. This time, it was already storming when we were swimming, and it was my hair that felt heavy and dragged me down. When I tried to hang onto Sigmun, he grabbed my hair and started pulling it and it was unbearable, but eventually my head sank below the surface and this time I almost liked the feeling of water cooling my flaming scalp. But then he started pulling my hair again, like he was determined to yank it out, and I felt a chunk tear off and I tasted blood and I couldn’t breathe and I woke up breathing hard. I checked three times in the mirror to make sure I still had all my hair, and when Sigmun reached around me to get a book and his hand brushed my hair, I jumped back pretty violently because I know it’s dumb, but I just don’t want anyone touching my hair right now. 

Oh, and my lovely friends were having another one of their conversations today and I figured I might as well ask, so I did, but they said they couldn’t tell me. Couldn’t tell me, what a stupid lie. I can tell when my friends are lying! Who do they think they’re kidding?

We studied chemistry today, some rules about gasses. It was fascinating and I liked it. 

 

21 February 1612

I wonder why Mother ever bothered adopting me sometimes. Then I remember my very young days, when I went to the market with Mother and she’d hold my little hand so I wouldn’t get lost and we’d walk around to the stores and she’d let me pick out one nice little thing, maybe I could choose between onions and carrots or between green and red, or something like that, and she’d smile. I sometimes remember Mother’s smile and I wonder why she thinks smiling is so wrong for women. 

We studied Russian history today and I liked it. The language was lovely and the history was interesting. 

 

22 February 1612

They were whispering again and it’s just really getting under my skin. I feel left out and I feel lonely and I feel unwanted and even though I know I’m unloved and unlovable, I’d like to think my friends like me, or at least tolerate me. 

We studied the last chapter of the adventure novel and it was just this sweet little conclusion in which the hero marries the heroine and it’s all sweet, except that it made a very clear statement that the heroine was not clever enough to handle herself and she became a damsel in distress. We finished it and there was this silence from all of us. 

“I liked it till the end,” Sigmun said from the couch. 

“The ending was kind of awful,” Simonn added. 

“The ending was absolutely no good,” I agreed. “Let’s read a better book.”

“Yeah,” Simonn agreed. They may be keeping secrets from me, but we can all agree that damsels in distress aren’t nearly as interesting as a proper character who happens to be a woman. Heaven forbid a woman have a personality. 

 

23 February 1612

I had three dreams last night: one of the nightmares (in this one, he teased me for how stupid I am and how shallow I am and I fell under myself, but he held me there), one dream about having a sister, and one dream about the two girls. In this dream, the older girl was almost crying and she just kept repeating, “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” 

I still don’t know what she’s thanking me for. 

We studied a new novel and this one doesn’t have any women in it at all, and I can’t decide whether I prefer no women or women with no real character. 

 

28 February 1612

I am determined to get a good night’s sleep tonight. Last night, Mother was sick from drinking and she kept yelling at me to get her bread and water and then she started vomiting and then she started drinking again and saying how useless her daughter was and why did she ever bother to adopt that stupid, disobedient girl and no one understood how hard it was to have a daughter who was a failure. 

And then she said a few things about her husband and how much she missed him and how much she wished she had her own children and I wanted to cry because I know Mother’s heart is broken and I don’t think anyone deserves a broken heart, but she’s just so mean to me. 

We studied math today, geometry to be specific, and we did some proofs. I don’t like proofs, and neither does Sigmun, but Simonn does. And they were whispering again today when I came over and I’m just very upset about the whole thing. 

 

29 February 1612

Oh my goodness. I shouldn’t have left the house today. I should’ve stayed home. I was already in a bad mood when I went to Dolora and Sigmun’s because I was tired and they were whispering again and Dolora had that knowing smile and…I just couldn’t take it anymore and I snapped. 

“Am I interrupting something?”

“What? No,” Sigmun said. 

“Oh, sorry, it’s just that you ‘can’t tell me’.”

“What are you talking about?” Simonn pressed. 

“Every time I come over here, you two are whispering like a couple of ten-year-olds and the second I walk in, you shut up! Do you think I don’t know when my friends—sorry, am I allowed to call you friends? —don’t want me around?!”

“What?” Sigmun asked again. 

“I’m not an idiot, I know when I’m not wanted! I was never more than a stupid girl anyways! I am sick to death of you two always keeping secrets you ‘can’t’ tell me! I know you think I’m stupid and I know you don’t give a damn about me but would it kill you to at least not keep secrets? What, is it because I’m a girl? Am I going to spread it around? Or am I just too weak to handle it? I’m sick of it and I hate it and I hate you!” 

They just kind of stared at me. I can’t take being stared at, so I spun around and ran out and slammed to door behind me and ran into the woods. There are places I know that no one else does where I knew I could hide and wait out the rest of the day. 

I climbed a tree to this one spot no one can see me from and rested for a minute. A second later, I heard Sigmun and Simonn come outside and shout, “Dianna! Dianna?” But I hadn’t left footprints and I didn’t want to be found. I’m good at that, ironically enough. 

I jumped from my tree to one a few over, then another. I made it to this rock pile we found once with a little cave inside only I know about because only I can fit inside. I heard Sigmun and Simonn looking around for me a bit more before I guess they gave up. I spent the rest of the day in that cave and…I was crying. When it started getting dark, I headed home and Mother didn’t even notice me. 

I just lost my two best friends. What am I going to do?


	7. I Said I Was Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Trust you?"  
> "Isn't that what friends do?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter is a little slow, I’m sorry. Believe me when I say that shit goes down in the next chapter.

1 March 1612

I wanted to hide in my cave again today, but I was so bored yesterday just hiding. Pretty much the only thing I can do for hours on end is read (and sleep, but that’s different), so I kind of had no choice but to go to Dolora and Sigmun’s house. I planned on walking in, taking a novel, and walking out again, but that didn’t work. I succeeded in the first two steps, but while I was leaving, Sigmun stopped me and asked me if I was okay and I didn’t want to tell him that I just feel really lonely a lot and I tried to get out but…I don’t know. I just didn’t want to talk about it. I felt really guilty for yelling at them and I guess I know it was unfair, but I feel like they don’t care about me and they’re the only people I know who did do. 

The reason I wrote do is because I gave up trying to escape and forced a smile and said, “I’m fine.” 

“Right.” 

“Will you just drop it?” I snapped. 

“I was just gonna say sorry, jeez,” he said, all defensive and tense. “Cuz of the thing…I’m not keeping any secrets from you.”

“Yeah right.”

“Really! No secrets, at all. I’d tell you any secrets I might have, anyways.”

“Except who you love.”

“I…That’s different.” 

“How?”

“You’re going to have to trust me when I say it is,” he snapped. “Just…trust me on this, okay?”

“Trust you.” I was a little dubious. 

“Isn’t that what friends do?”

That was harsh. “Fine. I’ll take your word for it. But friends don’t keep secrets, either.”

“I said I wouldn’t! Simonn sure isn’t.” 

“He is kind of an open book, isn’t he?” I acknowledged, and I smiled a little. 

“Yeah…” Sigmun started laughing a little and I laughed a little more and then we just kept laughing and I felt a little better because…I guess I’ll just trust him for now. I’m sure there is a reason he’s not telling me. I guess he’s probably too shy. What can I say about being too shy to tell someone something? 

Anyways, I guess they never really meant to do that to me. I guess they do at least care about a little, and considering Mother, that’s very nice to know. 

 

2 March 1612

I think my favorite thing in the world is to feel loved. I like how warm and safe and protected it feels. I crave it; I crave the feeling of being loved after so long being unlovable. There’s no use in loving me; I don’t know why my friends bother. I have nothing to offer. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to be loved. It certainly doesn’t mean I don’t want to love. I love with all my heart; I don’t see a point in feeling anything halfway. I love without expecting to be loved. It’s just very nice, being loved back. 

We studied a novel today and Sigmun walked around a bit. I hope he’ll feel better by the time the snow melts and we can go into the forest more often again. 

 

4 March 1612

Apparently Sigmun tried to go to the creek the other day (the one by the clearing with the pine tree in it, the one by the berry patch), so today Dolora put his cloak away so he can’t go outside without freezing. He’s crazy if he thinks he should be spending time outside. A sprained ankle takes time to heal. 

We studied Russian today and it’s slowly getting easier. Writing in Russian is harder than I expected, considering the new alphabet. I think I’ll just keep my journal in English for now. 

 

5 March 1612

Simonn’s tense; I can tell. His mother isn’t feeling too well and his parents will make him take care of his siblings soon. They all adore him; it’s rather sweet. But I can tell it makes him stressed and worried, and I think I would be, too, if I had to take care of four children under the age of twelve for two weeks at least. He says he’ll find time to come learn and work on our projects, but I know he’ll be gone for a few days. I have completely different family problems from Simonn and I can’t even imagine how much stress it must put on him. Besides that, his mother must be under a lot of pressure, too. Because first of all, if the child is a stillborn or dies young, it’s her fault. Then, if she loses her job or Simonn’s father loses his job because of the baby, it’s still her fault. And if, after all that, after labor and giving birth and raising another child (because Simonn’s father isn’t around much, though that’s because he works on a farm), one of the other children doesn’t end up in a respectable career, it’s still her fault. Why is it always her fault? It’s always her fault, never his fault. Never mind that it’s not her fault if he gets fired. It’s not her fault if one of Simonn’s siblings drinks her or his life away. It’s no one’s fault but the people directly involved. 

So why is it always her fault? 

 

6 March 1612

Mother told me to at least try to fix my shape and told me I should eat less food because heaven forbid I eat a filling meal. If I eat a filling meal, then I’m ruining my already awful shape and was I growing on purpose just to be an awful daughter because I couldn’t possibly be a good daughter. I just couldn’t be a good daughter, I’m too ugly and disobedient and headstrong and useless and hopeless. 

I know it’s wrong, but sometimes I don’t care anymore if I’m not a good daughter. Sometimes, I dare to think that someday, when I’m grown up and Mother’s long gone, I won’t have to worry about being a good daughter and maybe I’ll feel happy. 

 

8 March 1612

My friends are such idiots sometimes. Today, after we read a chapter of a novel, Sigmun said wouldn’t it be fun to go skating. Which it would be, except it wasn’t that cold out and obviously the ice was part melted, and his ankle is mostly healed, but not all the way. But Sigmun and Simonn went anyways and I wasn’t about to let them drown, so I went to and climbed the tree branch by the bridge and waited for someone to fall in. 

Simonn didn’t go out on the ice as far as Sigmun, so he didn’t fall in. Sigmun did, though, when the ice cracked under him, and Simonn had to pull him out. Sigmun was soaking wet and rather grumpy-looking when he finally got out of the water and I felt bad for laughing, but I couldn’t help it. 

 

9 March 1612

I had the nightmare again last night. I don’t even want to write about it right now, and that’s rare for me. It’s just very stressful. 

I find myself staring at him these days, and sometimes, I find myself fixating on his lips and wondering what it’d be like to feel them against mine. I’ve felt his warmth and his skin near mine, when we sit next to each other or when his hand brushes mine or when we try to spend the night in the woods and it’s dark and quiet and cold except for our linked hands and heavy, nervous breathing, and I adore the feeling. Sometimes, I wonder about how I’d sleep if I were to sleep next to him. I think I’d sleep well with his arms around me and my head resting on my chest. I don’t think he’d mind if I curled up like I do to sleep, and I know I wouldn’t mind those cute little snores I remember from when I spend the night at their house. He’s always been very kind to me (I can’t forget on All Saint’s Day when I had that awful nightmare) and there’s no reason he wouldn’t be so nice if we were married. 

I certainly hope so. 

 

10 March 1612

I don’t understand what’s so wrong with crying. Everyone cries sometimes, when they’re sad or in pain or angry or under stress, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Why do people always act like crying is shameful or something only weak people do? Even the strongest people I know cry sometimes, and it’s because everybody cries and I just don’t understand. I think crying is probably better than a lot of things, actually, because you don’t just hold everything in. 

 

11 March 1612

We went to the village today in the afternoon and I saw all my girl friends, except Candas. It was nice to talk to them again. Neolla’s planning is getting ever more complex as the day she visits the school for the first time draws nearer. Mariek’s mother is growing sicker and she’ll have to live with her aunt and uncle soon if her mother doesn’t recover. I feel so bad for Mariek; her mother is the only adult in her family who loves her. Oh, and Hannah’s father had her older sister marry the old man from Austria. So she’s safe for now. But she’ll be next, because her other sisters are younger. Hannah was almost in tears when she told me and I suspect that she and her sisters cling to each other because they have no one else. I did my best to comfort her and I hope she feels better. Poor Hannah; how awful it must be to know you’ll never your sisters again. I almost miss the sister I never really had sometimes. I can’t imagine losing a sibling you’ve already known. 

 

13 March 1612

Another one of those dreams. In this one, the storm drowned me, but in the thunder I could hear Sigmun’s voice taunting me, shouting how stupid and ugly and useless I am, and I was so afraid, and I woke up with a scream hiding just behind my lips. I’m glad it didn’t escape; Mother would’ve been so upset. I don’t want to get her angry. She’s always angry, but when her anger is directed at me more intensely, it can be very scary. 

We practiced Russian today and it’s slowly getting easier. I guess that’s how things work. 

 

14 March 1612

I had a dream about the two girls I don’t quite know last night. This time, it was younger girl who addressed me directly, and she kept asking me questions. At least, I think she did. It’s hard to tell, but there was something in her mannerisms and the incoherent whispers I could barely hear that suggested questions. The younger girl finally fell back and stood with the older girl, who was almost crying. Her baby was reaching for her face like children do and she seemed to barely notice. I still don’t understand them, why or how or who. 

Oh, and we studied Austrian history today. The way things are going there, I hope Hannah’s sister is safe. 

 

16 March 1612

My friends are still idiots, it seems. Well, Sigmun is sometimes. Because what person in their right mind would climb the tallest pine tree in the middle of our clearing, in the rain (it was storming today), with a healing ankle, and try to get to the top? He just said it would be fun, but even Simonn tried to talk him out of it. But he climbed that stupid tree anyways and we had to follow him because he’d hurt himself. So the three of us wound up in the clearing, in the pouring rain, and Sigmun easily climbed to the top of the tree. “Hey! See, I’m fine! Nothing’s gonna happen!” (Famous last words.) His smile fell as he did, along with the branch he was standing on. A huge snap that sounded like thunder hit my ears and I almost panicked. 

“What do we do?” Simonn yelled, rather uselessly I think. For some insane, half-thought-out reason, I ran under where he was falling and I held out my arms and I barely caught him. But I did, and I thought my arms were going to break. But they didn’t, and I held him stand up. And then we had to walk the half-mile or more back home in the rain. 

“Sorry…”Sigmun said while we were walking back. 

“Yeah,” Simonn said. “That was not smart. In fact, it was pretty moronic.” 

“I said sorry, what else am I supposed to do?” Sigmun snapped. “It seemed like a good idea when I suggested it…”

“Stop arguing, guys,” I interrupted, rolling my eyes. They don’t fight for real often (though they have many not-fights), so I’d rather avoid it. “Let’s just go get dried off.” 

So we all sat by the fire and tried to dry off. My hair didn’t dry completely by the time I had to walk home, so I felt like I’d gone swimming or taken a bath fully clothed by the time I was home. I suppose Sigmun’s always been a bit reckless. (A lot reckless.) I think it’s alright sometimes (otherwise we’d never have found the eddy), but more often, it just gets all of us in trouble. 

It’s been a long day. 

 

17 March 1612

I didn’t sleep much last night. I kept having nightmares. I had nightmares of Mother and of Father and of Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and all my other friends, and of course I had my nightmare that I always have. I didn’t even get a very good dream, one of Sigmun and I swimming or in the woods or maybe even reading, just one good dream to lessen the blow of my nightmares. It happens sometimes. But I wonder what it’d be like if I had a mother who would comfort me when I had such a horrible dream. Ever since I can remember, Mother’s yelled at me if I had a nightmare. Even if I didn’t wake her up, but told her in the morning, she’d tell me I’d done something awful and wrong and it was my fault. But when I was younger and Sigmun had nightmares, he said Dolora would comfort him. Even Simonn says his father did so. Mother just yells. It’s all she’s ever done. 

We studied some British history today. It was quite interesting. 

 

18 March 1612

Simonn’s mother is going to have her baby soon, in about a week Simonn says. He looked rather nervous and I feel bad for him. His mother could easily die, or I guess his new sister could die, too, but he says she won’t die until she’s three. It’s still all very scary. 

 

20 March 1612

Simonn only stayed for a couple hours today, and he was tense. It was obvious. Dolora made him one of her cups of tea and he hardly drank any. Poor Simonn. 

 

21 March 1612

Simonn’s tension is contagious; all three of us were a little on edge today. He had another cup of tea, too. We just read the novel until it was dark and we all had to head home. 

 

22 March 1612

I’m feeling incredibly flustered because I really didn’t intend to be sitting in the same room as Sigmun, and just Sigmun, for an entire day, including staying for dinner, and I really didn’t mean to almost blurt out how much I love him. But Simonn was busy with his siblings and Dolora’s the midwife so she was in town, so it was just Sigmun and I today and I just felt rather flustered about spending my whole day with him, and just him. It’s happened before, of course, but Dolora usually comes home and I’ve never spent dinner with just him. Also, I’ve never really cooked with someone else before (Mother won’t let me help and when she’s out or drinking I make dinner myself) and that was interesting to say the least. It felt very close and I know I should’ve been thinking about Simonn and his mother and everyone, but all I could worry about was how shy I felt and how much I wanted to just tell him and get it off my shoulders, but I couldn’t. I can never tell him because I know he’ll never love me back, and I just couldn’t bear it. 

So I just pretended I was fine like I always do and I know he didn’t buy it, but he didn’t press, either. And I guess that’s good, because I felt so guilty about the whole thing, because I should’ve been worrying about Simonn and his family, and because I know it’s my fault, and because I just really hate all this stress and pressure and for the life of me, all I want is to run away from home and maybe be happy for once in my life. 

 

23 March 1612

I didn’t expect Simonn to come at all today, and I certainly didn’t expect him to come by with all four of his siblings. 

“Mama wanted me to take them out of the house,” Simonn said. “So…here we are. I didn’t know where else to take them.” 

“Uh…” Sigmun said, staring at the four kids we’d only met through Simonn’s stories. Richard, Thomas, Robert, and Isabella. “What do we do?” 

“Hey, Richard, let go of Thomas. Isabella—Izzy!”

“I don’t like Izzy!”

“Then listen to me, all of you. We’re going to go play in a pretty clearing with a big tree. This is Dianna and Sigmun. Listen to them, alright? They’re my friends.” 

“Okay, Simmie!” Robert called, giggling. Simonn sighed. 

“Simmie?” Isabella asked, tugging on his arm. “Are we gonna have a yummy lunch?”

“Uh…yeah! We will. We’ll have a picnic. How does that sound?”

The four of them grinned and Thomas said, “Yeah! That sounds yummy!” 

“Great! Okay…” He looked at me and I nodded. “Dianna will take you to the clearing. I’ll be right there.”

So I led the four of them to the clearing with the pine tree in the middle, even though it was chilly out (it is March). At least it didn’t rain. Richard and Thomas climbed the tree quickly, and Roger was quick behind them (I can tell the difference: Richard is the tallest, Thomas is the only one with blonde hair, and Roger is the only one with blue eyes.) But Isabella sat next to me with her big brown eyes and asked me, “You’re name’s Dianna, right?” 

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’m Isabella. Uh, good to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Isabella. How old are you?”

“Five.”

“I’m sixteen.”

“You’re really old,” she said. “How comes you’re big like Simmie?”

I laughed. “He’s sixteen, too. You’ll be big, too, someday.” 

“Then I can get married and have babies. That’s what Mama says.” 

I didn’t know what to say. I wanted to tell her that she didn’t have to get married if she didn’t want to, but I didn’t know how. 

“Dianna? How comes my brothers are gonna work and maybe do school and I can’t?” 

“You can go to school, Isabella. You’re just as clever as they are.”

“But Papa says…Papa says girls can’t be clever.”

“Then he’s wrong. What does Simonn say?”

“Simonn says I’m clever as Tommy and Rich and Rob.”

“And who do you trust more?”

She looked down. “I’m supposed to trust Papa.”

“But who do you trust?” 

“Simmie,” she whispered. “Cuz he cares about me more’n Papa.”

“Hey, that’s alright. My mama doesn’t care about me a lot, so I trust other people more.” 

“Really?”

“Really. You can go to school if you want. Are you learning to read?”

She looked around. “It’s a secret.”

“You can tell me. I won’t tell anyone.” 

“I’m learning how to read and write.”

“Wow! I bet you’re really good at it.”

“Tommy says I am. Rob says he’s the best.” 

“I bet you’re the best,” I said, and she smiled in response. 

“Can you read and write?” she asked me. 

“Yep.”

“That’s really fun.”

“It sure is. Do you want to climb the tree with your brothers?” 

“I do…but what if they push me?”

“They wouldn’t.”

“But if they do?”

“Push them back. They’re siblings.” 

“They’ll get mad.”

“That’s okay. It’s okay to stand up for yourself.”

She looked up at me, then at the tree.

“I’ll help you up,” I added. 

“Okay,” she finally said. I helped her into the tree and let her climb away. 

Simonn and Sigmun showed up a bit later, with a basket full of a lunch. “Where’s Isabella?” Simonn asked. 

“In the tree.”

“What? She’s going to get hurt, Dianna! What the hell?”

“She’ll be fine. Your brothers won’t hurt her.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about! I’m teaching them about people being equal as best as I can and they know not to hurt anyone. She’s just not tall enough to reach the far branches.”

“Simonn, calm down,” Sigmun said. “We’ll be right here and we’ve got Mama.” 

Simonn took a deep breath. “Okay. Fine. But if any of them fall, it’s your fault.”

“Mine or Dianna’s?”

“Both of yours.” 

I grinned. “Simonn. I know you’re worried, but they adore you. They’d never do something you told them not to do.”

“Yeah right,” he scoffed, but he started blushing. “They do all the time. Believe me.”

“Something serious,” I said. “Isabella trusts you more than your father.”

“Good,” Simonn said dismissively. “Our father says girls can’t be smart. As far as I know, they all trust me on that particular matter.”

“You do know how much they love you, right?” I asked. 

“Whatever.”

“Alright.” I let it drop because Simonn always puts on a front and I guess he knows we know, but I wasn’t going to bug him about it. Men seem to do that a lot. I don’t know how to tell my friends they really don’t have to. 

 

24 March 1612

Simonn warned us that it might be a while before he can leave his siblings at home. He says Richard mostly takes charge, in his proud role of second-oldest brother, but his mother wants the younger ones out of the house. He says part of the reason he leaves his house from after breakfast to about four in the afternoon is so they can do their chores without him, because he won’t be there forever. I told him not to worry, and he said that they practice writing and do chores anyways. Apparently, they like doing chores when he’s not home. He thinks they think they’re surprising him. 

Today we went to the clearing again and it was sunny (rare for March), so they played in the creek and by the berry patch while Sigmun and Simonn and I sat on the grass and read. We studied the novel and I kind of leaned on Sigmun to see the book over his shoulder and I could feel his arm pressed up against mine, and he had that sweet little smile I love, and it was just very overwhelming. And then I got tired in the late afternoon because of my nightmares and I rested my head on his shoulder and I kind of dozed off that way, and while Sigmun was very sweet about it and didn’t move and let me fall or something, it was rather embarrassing. But Simonn raised his eyebrows at me and mouthed, “Just kiss him already!” I just shook my head and ignored him. 

 

26 March 1612

My mother screamed at me today when she was drunk. She told me that it was all my fault, everything was. It’s my fault Father leaves all the time, it’s my fault she drinks, it’s my fault she’s miserable, it’s my fault I’m so ugly and useless and hopeless, it’s my fault my friends aren’t any good, it’s my fault I can’t find a husband, everything is my fault. And then she slapped me twice and threw a bottle at me (which I dodged; I’ve gotten good at that. I didn’t used to be, but it was something I had to learn) and she stormed to her room. I made dinner alone and I gave a bowl of soup to Mother (she yelled and I left it and ran) and I ate alone and then I went upstairs to go to bed and I just wish Mother wasn’t right. 

 

27 March 1612

We studied chemistry today, and I rather enjoyed it. Simonn’s siblings played on the tree again and I tried not to seem upset, but it’s hard because Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora are the only three people in the world I really, truly trust. I do trust and love my other friends, but my dear friends I trust more than anyone else. It’s funny to think that the only ones I’ve ever truly loved and trusted aren’t even related to me by blood. On the other hand, neither is my mother. 

 

30 March 1612

I had one of those nightmares last night. I don’t like those dreams and I’d give just about anything to stop them. 

We studied chemistry today and I did almost fall asleep on Sigmun’s shoulder because I was just so tired from nightmares, but I didn’t. Luckily.


	8. Strange Days

1 April 1612

It’s been a strange day.

A man came by today while I was at Dolora’s house. We were reading and it was my turn, so I was reading that physics book aloud when Dolora called, “Children!” She never calls us anything but our names (or her names for us, like Sigmun is little love or darling and I’m Dianna dear and Simonn is Simon dear), so I was a little confused. Sigmun called back, “Yes?”

“One of the palace men is here” She walked in very stiffly with a man in a strange uniform who smiled awkwardly and said, “And they are?”

“My children,” Dolora said. “Sigmun, Simonn, and Dianna.”

“Where’s their father?”

“Work.”

“And why aren’t they working?”

“They’re learning. Learning is work enough for now.”

The man turned to us and smiled a scary fake smile. “Hello. I’m Mr. Smithe.”

“I’m Sigmun,” Sigmun said, and he sounded a little afraid.

“Simonn,” Simonn said. He just sounded bored.

“I’m Dianna,” I said, smiling like I ought to. Men expect women to smile. 

The man smiled that false smile again and said, “You’re very pretty, Miss Dianna.”

“Thank you very much, sir.”

“What’re you boys reading? Principia? You two must be very clever.” He wasn’t addressing me anymore, even though I was holding the book. I saw Dolora press her lips together and take a deep breath through her nose. “And very strong, I’d wager.”

“Thank you, sir,” Simonn said. Sigmun just nodded.

“Are you three triplets?”

“No,” Simonn said. “Well, Dianna and Sigmun are twins. I’m a year older.”

“I see. How old are you all?”

“Sixteen now. But I’ll be seventeen in a week,” Simonn lied.

“And what’s your birthday?” He addressed Sigmun, not me.

“August first,” I blurted anyways. That’s my mother’s birthday.

“Hm,” the man said. Then he turned to Dolora and said, “Ma’am, may I speak with your husband?”

“Their father won’t be home tonight. But you may stay for dinner.” She sounded deeply reluctant.

“If you would, ma’am.”

“Of course. Children, keep Mr. Smithe company.”

Once Dolora had left, Mr. Smithe said, “Carry on like you would. Pretend I’m not here.”

“I—uh—alright,” I stammered. I opened the book to where we left off and started reading. It was intensely awkward, because he looked shocked as soon as I started speaking, probably because I was talking in Latin like normal. He was in Dolora’s chair, which was odd because I’m so used to turning there when I need help with a word or a concept and now there was this strange, nosy man there. Eventually I passed the book to Sigmun and we just read like we always do. And every time Simonn or Sigmun said something clever, the man would say how smart they must be. He almost completely ignored me.

At dinner, the man hardly spoke to me at all and he barely talked to Dolora, except to question her. He just told me I was pretty again and then told Sigmun and Simonn how they were clever and strong and they’d do great things someday (like maybe join the palace guard, apparently). It then struck me that he was probably going to stay the night, and that was kind of panic-worthy because he would sleep on the couch and I’d have to stay the night because we had to pretend to be a family. Dolora’s house has three rooms downstairs (kitchen, living room/library, and company room) and three upstairs (storage, her room, and Sigmun’s room). I couldn’t exactly sleep in the storage room, or downstairs if the man was going to be there. And I couldn’t sleep in Dolora’s room because that would look suspicious. So I had to sleep in Sigmun’s room. With Sigmun and Simonn. Who are my best friends, but also boys.

After one very uncomfortable dinner, Dolora had the man go and see if the couch was fit for him to sleep on and she stared at all of us and said, “Can I trust you three? I have to keep this up.” I know she meant that if we didn’t pretend to be a family, at least Sigmun and Dolora would go to jail, and possibly Simonn and I too. What did it matter if Mother would hit me for staying the night? At least they’d be safe.

“Mm-hmm,” I said. Sigmun nodded. Simonn rolled his eyes and said, “Of course.”

“I’ll lend you something to wear tomorrow, Dianna dear. Sigmun, lend Simonn something.”

“I will, Mama.”

“Good. Now all of you, it’s getting dark. You can read until nine, and then go to bed.”

The three of us nodded and went to read a novel.

And then it was about nine and the three of us had to go to bed and the palace man asked, “Where do the three of you sleep?”

“We all share a room,” Simonn said casually. “Mother and Father share a room and then we’ve got the storage closet.”

The man nodded, only briefly seeming to wonder if it was odd for three young adult siblings to share one room. On the other hand, he barely noticed me except a brief glance at my chest that made me glad I had my two best friends and Dolora there with me.

I’m very tired and Dolora’s going to tell us to be quiet and go to sleep soon. I hope I can sleep decently tonight.

 

2 April 1612

It’s probably worth mentioning that I did yesterday’s entry on paper at Dolora’s house and copied it in, because writing is the best way for me to fall asleep. Anyways, Mother did slap me today, and she sent me to my room without dinner, and then she told me tomorrow I was using hair thinner whether I liked it or not. I don’t know how I’m going to get out of that.

At any rate, here’s what happened last night after we all climbed up the stairs to Sigmun’s room.

“Uh…sorry about the mess…” Sigmun stammered, stacking books with the titles facing the wall and shoving a few other items under his bed. I asked for some paper and I wrote my entry and then it was too dark to write or read, even with a candle, and we had to go to sleep.

“Probably two people can fit on the bed, so, uh—”

“I’ll take the floor,” Simonn said. “You can sleep on the bed, Dianna.” He gave me this wide, mischievous grin, and I was about ready to slap him, because that just wasn’t fair.

“No, it’s alright, Simonn. I don’t mind the floor.”

“Come on, ladies first.”

“That’s bogus and you know it.”

“Look, how about you two,” Sigmun gestured to Simonn and me. “Share the bed and I’ll sleep on the floor?”

“It’s your house,” Simonn said. “I’ll be fine. I like the floor. Just toss me a blanket and I’ll be asleep in two minutes.”

“We could both sleep on the floor,” I said.

“That’d be ridiculous,” Simonn said. “You two share the bed and I’ll take the floor.”

Suddenly, Dolora shouted from downstairs, “Bedtime, all three of you! I don’t want to hear another peep out of you for the rest of the night!”

“Sorry, Mama!” Sigmun called. “Look, if it’ll shut you up, Simonn, fine.” So he lied down on his bed and glared at the wall and I was blushing crimson, but I lied down too (facing the opposite wall, of course) and tried to close my eyes, but my entire body was tense and I was suddenly sure he could read my mind, because I was sure I was going to have one of those dreams (I did) and I was thinking about kissing him and it’s just a very married thing to do, sleep in the same bed, and I was feeling extremely flustered and then there was only one blanket left so we had to share it and I hardly slept at all. I know Simonn’s doing this on purpose and I don’t understand why. He’d know that Sigmun doesn’t love me, so why would he do something like this?

I borrowed something from Dolora today to wear and it didn’t fit, and neither did Simonn’s borrowed clothes. We studied some Italian and then the man finally left and I could change back into my normal clothes and so could Simonn and overall this has been very stressful and I’m feeling very rattled by the whole affair.

 

3 April 1612

I hate, hate, hate my mother! I hate everything about her! I don’t care how much sadness she carries, I hate her! My whole head hurts and I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all. Mother made me sit down and dumped a whole can of hair thinner on my hair and it burned worse than laundry soap or even salt on a cut! And, once she’d finally rinsed it all out (which took more than an hour of cold water pouring over my head), almost half of my hair had turned this awful shade of green! Green hair! I’m so mad I could scream! I don’t even remember what we studied today, that’s how upset I am. How can I get rid of green hair? What am I supposed to do about that? 

 

4 April 1612

I decided to ask Dolora for help, because I can’t have green hair. I walked over to Sigmun and Dolora’s like always and when I got there, Simonn covered his mouth with one hand in some attempt to not laugh. 

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

“Sorry,” Simonn said, laughing. “What happened? Bad dye?”

“For your information, my mother shoved me into a chair, dumped hair thinner on my head, and made me sit there for two hours while she rinsed it out. And it didn’t do squat except turn my hair green! Where’s Dolora?”

“In the village.”

“Dammit!” 

“What’s wrong, Deedee?” Sigmun asked. 

“I have green hair! What do you think is wrong?” 

“Okay, I guess that’s obvious. Mama said she’d be back by three tonight.” 

“Great.” 

“I’m sure it’ll come out. Mama’s good at things like that.” 

I shrugged. “I sure hope so. Someone else choose.” 

So we read the physics book again until Dolora came home, a bit later than three, and Simonn left. “Hello, little love!” she called. “Who’s over?”

“Dianna.”

“Hello, Dianna dear.”

“Hi, Dolora. Uh…can I have your help with something?” 

“Of course, dear. What with?” 

“My mother made me use hair thinner yesterday and…” I walked into the kitchen and held out a lock of my green hair. 

“Alright, Dianna dear. Don’t worry, I’ve seen this before. It’ll be fixed in no time.”

“Thank you so much, Dolora.”

“Any time. Now sit down here and I’ll set to work fixing this.” 

I have no idea what she did, but she washed something through my hair a few times, and then wrapped it for a while, and then rinsed it again, and most of the green was gone, at least faded. 

“I’ll do that again tomorrow and the green should be all gone.” 

“Really?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Thank you, Dolora.”

“You’re welcome. Now hurry on home, it’s getting dark. 

“Bye, Dolora.”

“Goodbye, Dianna dear.” 

At least the green is mostly gone. I hate Mother. 

 

5 April 1612

Dolora did whatever it was to my hair again and it’s back to normal, thank heaven. Green hair! What was Mother thinking? 

We studied French today. I like French; it’s such a lovely language. 

 

6 April 1612

He was definitely looking at me today. He was looking at me, too, not at my chest like most men do. I wonder what that was about. 

We studied that physics book today and for once it wasn’t so bad. 

 

8 April 1612

Simonn was bugging me today. He’s like a mosquito. 

“Tell him.”

“No.”

“Tell him.”

“No!”

“Tell him.”

“For the absolute last time, no!”

“Tell him.”

“Shut up!” 

“You’re really messing with your own head, doing this.”

“I am not.”

“You are. You’re making yourself miserable. Just tell him, get it off your chest. You’ve got nothing to lose, believe me.”

“How do you know?”

“Just trust me!” 

“Is that all boys ever say?”

“What do you mean?”

“That’s what Sigmun said about you two keeping secrets!” 

“We’re not keeping secrets, Dianna!”

“I know! I just…I can’t tell him!”

“You can’t trust me?”

“No! I can’t risk it! I can’t let him break my heart!” 

Simonn didn’t say anything for a very long time. “I can promise you won’t get your heart broken. I swear.”

“On what?” 

“On my life.” He sounded sincere for once and I desperately want to believe him. “I could seriously tell him for you, if you want.”

“No. I have to do this myself.” 

“Fine. But you have to tell him by…”

“August.”

“May.”

“Too early! June.”

“Fine. Until the end of June. I’ll hold you to it.”

“Fine…” 

We studied Austrian history today and it was quite interesting, but I was too on edge to appreciate it. 

 

9 April 1612

I had a dream last night about…I don’t want to write it, I don’t even want to think about it. I had a dream that…that I killed my friends. It was awful…

And on top of that, I had one of those dreams with drowning and Sigmun and it was him screaming about how I ruin everything, everything, absolutely everything. It wouldn’t be so bad, but he’s right and it’s what I most fear. 

Oh, and we studied German history today. It wasn’t too bad. 

 

11 April 1612

My mother told me I had to change my clothes today before I left the house because I wore shorter sleeves. We had another argument over it and Mother won, so I spent the day feeling overheated in my long-sleeved winter dress. I don’t like my winter dress much; my summer dress is much more comfortable. All my skirts and shirts are comfortable, at least. 

Oh, and I slept enough last night that I didn’t drift off at all. It was raining, so we studied Russian. 

 

12 April 1612

Today Simonn and Sigmun and I went into the market and we met the others and Mariek and Neolla and Hannah and I split off to talk at the park. The boys went to do something I’m sure seemed like a good idea at the time.

Mariek brought up love before long (she’s eighteen already and she’s done things with men) and she asked me who I loved because of course that’s what she’d do to me. So I decided I’d ask them, too.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me. All of you.”

“Simonn…” Hannah whispered. I think only I heard her. (I’m making a mental note to not, under any circumstances, forget this.)

“Fine,” Mariek said. “Sumner.”

“No way!” Neolla screeched. She and Mariek are like sisters. “Well, I wouldn’t mind Sigmun, but you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. So I’d say…”

“Wait, what?”

“What what?”

“What do you mean I’ve got him wrapped around my finger?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Isn’t what obvious?”

“Dianna,” Mariek interrupted, all simpering and confident. “He is head-over-heels in love with you. He’s really obvious about it. It’s kinda cute, actually.”

“W-What?”

“Dianna. Sigmun. Is. In. Love. With. You.”

“N-No he’s not!” (I was stammering like there was no tomorrow). “I’ve heard him talking.”

“Psh,” Mariek tossed off. “Don’t trust a guy when he talks. You’ve gotta watch how he acts. And let me tell you, he doesn’t take his eyes off you when we’re all sitting around here. I can’t believe you haven’t noticed.”

“Yeah,” Neolla agreed. “He always looks so lovesick around you.”

“She’s right,” Hannah agreed.

“S-stop it!” I sort of shrieked. “Stop it!”

“Why, what’s wrong? You don’t like him back?” Hannah asked nicely.

“N-no, it’s not that.”

“So you do like him!”

“Shut up! Just shut up!” That time I shrieked properly. “Stop it!”

“What’s wrong, Dianna?” Neolla asked. Mariek scoffed and crossed her legs.

“N-nothing, I’m fine.” It’s really overwhelming having so many people lie to you at once when it’s just the lie you want to hear. “It’s very nice of you to say so. But you’re wrong.”

“How on Earth could we be wrong?” Mariek asked.

“Just…trust me. Okay? He doesn’t love me.”

“Then who does he talk about?” Mariek asked.

“Uh…I don’t know anymore. I thought Neolla, but…”

“Has he ever actually mentioned a name?” Neolla asked. “Cuz I was kidding, you know. I don’t really like him. I don’t really like anyone the way Mary means. I just meant he wouldn’t be too bad to end up with if someone else was taken.”

“He’s never said a name at all. But he won’t tell me. He’s told Simonn and I tried to get Simonn to tell me, but he wouldn’t tell either.”

“Right,” Neolla said. “You know, it is entirely possible he loves you and that’s why he won’t tell you.”

“Wait—did you tell Simonn?” Hannah asked.

“Of course.”

“Wow,” Mariek said. “I…just…wow.” She looked at the sun (to check the time) and said, “Well, good luck, darling. Don’t go breaking too many hearts while we’re gone.”

“See you,” Neolla said.

“Bye.”

What did she mean? Sigmun doesn’t stare at me. I’d notice. And why’d she say “good luck”? And “wow”? What did she mean???

 

13 April 1612

They’ve stopped the whispered arguments/conversations, but I overheard some of a different conversation today and it was a little bit odd. 

“…Just one question: do you love her, or do you want her?” Simonn asked. 

“What?” 

“I may not know a lot about love, but I know there’s a difference between loving someone and wanting them.” 

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Just hear me out. It’s…Okay. I wanted Mariek when we were kids. You wanted Neolla. Do you love her or do you want her?”

“How am I supposed to know that?” 

“What do you think about when you think about her?” 

“I…I don’t want to talk about it!”

“Spit it out. It’s not like anyone else is listening.” (Oops.) 

“I…I…”

“Siggy, for heaven’s sake, just tell me the first word that comes to your mind, or sentence, or something.”

“…Happy.” 

“Wow. That’s impressively sappy and romantic.”

“Shut up! You asked for it!” (Sigmun sounded so flustered, and I’d bet anything he’d turned crimson.) “I just…happy. I want her to be happy…”

“You’re a hopeless romantic.”

“Stop it!” 

“S’true. I bet you dream about her.”

“No!”

“Yeah you do. I bet you dream about her loving you and—”

“If you don’t shut up, I’ll make you shut up.”

“Yeah right.”

“Anyways, you can’t tell me you don’t dream about Hannah—”

“You shut up!”

“Only if you do!” 

“I am shutting up!” 

“Why do you always do this to me? You’d know if she loves me or not.” 

“I can’t tell you. I swore I wouldn’t tell anyone who she loves.”

“I hate you.”

“Well, I could tell her—”

“No!” 

“Then don’t bug me about it. I keep my promises.” 

“Fine, fine. Can we talk about something else?”

“Fine. Let’s go wait for Di-ann-a.” He drew out my name and I don’t know why.

“Shut up.”

The two of them came downstairs and they saw me and Sigmun ducked behind Simonn and I don’t know why. 

 

14 April 1612

Hearing that conversation yesterday has made me question myself. Do I love him? When I think of him, it’s like a bubble inside and I just want to see him happy. I want to make him happy. Is that love? I hope so. 

But I also can’t stop thinking about how nice it would be to hold his hand, to feel his arms holding me, to kiss his lips and feel him kiss me back. I wonder what his hair would feel like between my fingers, what his hands might feel like entwined with mine, how the sun would feel shining on us if we were together…no, I’m not supposed to be thinking like this! Reading all those romance books must’ve messed with my mind, that I have all these dreams of romance. 

 

16 April 1612

I had another argument of a sort with Simonn today. Mother, too, but she was just screaming at me over dinner. 

“This is ridiculous,” Simonn said after a while. 

“It is not! What am I supposed to do, just walk up to him and kiss him?” 

“Yes!”

“I can’t do that!”

“Why not?” 

“Because…because…because I’ve never kissed anybody!”

“Well, you’ll get a chance.”

“I don’t know!”

“What do you want? Practice kissing?” 

“Just leave it alone!” 

“Fine. I’ll leave it be. But remember: June.” 

“June.” 

“What about June?” Sigmun asked, returning from the garden with mint leaves. 

“Just something I have to do,” I said. 

“What?” 

“Nothing important. Never mind.”

“Alright. I’ll take your word for it.” He handed us both some leaves and added, “Here. I picked the best ones.”

I’ll kill Simonn if he tells. 

 

17 April 1612

Mother and I got in such an argument today. I don’t even know what I did wrong this time. 

“Diana! Get in here!” (She says my name with one n and I hate it.)

“What is it, Mother?” I don’t call her Mama because Mama is a term of affection and I don’t want to give Mother my affection. 

“Did you do this?”

“Do what?”

“You know what!”

“If I knew what it was, I wouldn’t be asking!”

“You rotten, lying, useless girl! This letter is what!

“What letter?”

“It’s from that awful poor boy who lives in the woods with no proper father! That educated, illegitimate, abandoned child!” She spat each word like an insult, like the worst insult she could say, and it made me angry. I may love Sigmun more and differently than I care to admit, but he is still my best friend and I will defend him. 

“It’s not his fault he’s illegitimate, or abandoned, or poor! And who says education is bad?”

“I do!”

“I don’t care! Give me that! It’s for me!” 

“It’s for whoever gets the mail.”

“It’s for who it was addressed to!” 

“You’re not getting this letter, you little brat!” She slapped me and held out a bottle like a weapon. It was empty and I knew she’d been drinking. 

“Give it to me!”   
“You want it? Go get it!” She threw my letter, a letter from Sigmun of all people, into the fire and whipped back around to glare at me.

“Mother! How could you?”

“How could I? How could I?” she shrieked. “How could I! Did you see that letter?”

“No I didn’t, because you destroyed it!”

“It was trash, rubbish, from an educated mind.”

“You can’t even read!” 

“And you can? You whore! I can read enough to know what a whore you are!”

I was thoroughly confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You know already!”

“No I don’t!” 

“It doesn’t matter, because it’s gone and you’ll never see it again!”

She had this awful, triumphant smile on her face and I hated it. 

“I hate you! I hate you!” I screamed, and I had angry tears in my eyes. “I hate you so much! Why did you take me in the first place? I’d be better off dead!” 

“Why, you ungrateful little bitch! Get out of my house!”

“With pleasure!”

“And when you come crawling back, I’ll be ready!”

“You better be!” I ran upstairs, grabbed a few things (including my journal and pen), and stormed out. The only place I could think to go was Sigmun and Dolora’s, so I ran there in the dark and knocked on the door. 

“Dianna dear? What are you doing here? Is everything alright?”

“I’m fine. Mother…Mother made me leave.” 

“Come in, come in,” Dolora said. “You can sleep here, of course. I suppose you’ll have to sleep on the couch…”

“It’s alright,” I said. “Thank you so much.”

“Any time, Dianna dear. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Dolora.”

What a day. 

 

18 April 1612

It was raining again, so we studied from that physics book Simonn likes so much. Simonn planned to stay for dinner, so Dolora invited me, too, but Mother would be expecting me home now that she was sober and I didn’t want to get her upset again. My last bruise still stings. Dolora asked again (I think she’s worried about me) and I said I couldn’t again, and then she gave up. 

“I really can’t, Mother will get upset.” 

“Alright. Make sure to get home before it gets dark out, Dianna dear.”

“I will.”

“And don’t forget to chew mint leaves before bed.” 

“I won’t.” 

“And eat your vegetables.” 

“I will.” 

“And—”

“I’ll remember all of it, Dolora. Promise.” 

“Good. Now, hurry on home, before it gets dark.” 

“I will. Bye!”

“Goodbye, Dianna dear.” 

It’s nice to know someone cares enough about me to remind me to chew mint leaves (so you don’t wake up with bad-tasting breath) and eat vegetables and keep safe. 

 

19 April 1612

Mother hasn’t said anything more about my letter. I still don’t know why she was so upset about it, or why she called me all those names. I think she’s forgotten, too. 

Sigmun asked me why I stayed over the other night and I told him Mother got mad because of a letter, and then I told him it was his letter on accident, and he apologized, so I told him not to worry, and was it important, because she burned it before I could read it, and he said no. I wonder what it was about. 

We went to the prickly clearing today and made a little headway cleaning it out. It’s a project so we can have a nice garden here, with berries and herbs and everything. It’s one plan Dolora doesn’t worry about when we work on it. 

 

21 April 1612

I still can’t stop wondering about the letter. What did it say? What on Earth would he send me in a letter that he couldn’t tell me in person? Why did Mother get so mad? How did she manage to read any of it? I don’t understand. 

It was raining, so we stayed inside and studied algebra. It wasn’t bad at all. 

 

23 April 1612

I had one of the nightmares last night. This time, he laughed at me for expecting something good to come of his letter. He told me it was a letter telling me to go away and never come back. Then when I slipped under, the river was full of that awful hair thinner and it burned my whole buddy and I couldn’t scream and I woke up terrified. At least my hair’s not actually green this time. 

We explored some along the creek today. It’s such a nice little creek. If I were to chose a place to spend time alone with him, I think it’d be there. 

 

26 April 1612

Today we went to the old house that burned down we found last year. It’s still as strange as ever. I wonder what happened here so many years ago. It must’ve been a long time ago, before Dolora lived here, and it must’ve been contained. I just wonder. 

 

27 April 1612

Mother didn’t recognize me today. She was drinking and when she vomited, she talked about how much she hated me and I should just die and then she went to her room and I brought her a plate and ate dinner alone. Then I cleaned up the mess she made, bottles and drink and vomit and broken glass and droplets of blood and it was awful. I’m so…so tired. I’m tired of cleaning up after my mother. I’m tired of her being angry with me. I’m tired of everything being blamed on me. I’m tired of being unloved. 

 

28 April 1612

We went to the market today and I stayed with Neolla and Mariek and Hannah while Simonn and Sigmun ran off with Sumner and Patrik. I couldn’t find them it was getting late, so I guessed they had gone back to Dolora’s without telling me and I was kind of annoyed about that, but I just sighed and headed for Dolora’s.

“Dolora! Are Sigmun and Simonn home?”

“No, Dianna dear. I thought they were with you.”

“Oh.”

Dolora sighed audibly. “Would you like to help with dinner, Dianna dear?”

“Sure.”

“Alright. Chop up these carrots, alright?”

“Okay.” Dolora just seems to understand me without asking, even more so than my best friends. I really like her and I wish she didn’t seem to always have echoes of sadness in her. I can tell that things happened in her past that she doesn’t talk about and it makes me sad to see her so sad, too.

Anyways, I was done with half the carrots when I heard the door open and I knew Sigmun and Simonn were home. They walked into the kitchen and I honestly had no idea what on Earth had happened. Both of them were covered with berry juice and smelled like fish. Not to mention they had bruises on their arms and I think Sigmun’s hair had been cut a little bit, because it was more of a mess than usual. “Um…what happened?” I had to ask.

“I…It seemed like a good idea at the time,” Sigmun said, sounding rather defeated.

“Both of you, go take baths right now,” Dolora ordered. “We’ll talk about this once you’re clean.”

“But—”

“No buts. Go clean up and I’ll have dinner ready.” Once they’d left, Dolora sighed. “Dianna dear, would you like to stay for dinner?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

“It’s never any trouble,” Dolora said, smiling kindly. I want to believe that I’m really no trouble when I stay for dinner, but I know Dolora and Sigmun don’t have a lot.

Once they’d come back, Sigmun and Simonn were both drenched and very unhappy-looking. It seemed that most of the berry juice was gone, as was the fish smell. But there were still bruises.

“Alright. What happened?”

“Well…Sumner suggested that it would be fun to try to jump around on the tops of the buildings,” Sigmun started

“What on Earth?!” (That was me.)

“And then Sigmun decided to jump from the top of the inn to the roof of the fish seller’s stand—” Simonn continued. 

“And then the fish seller’s was too far away and I missed and crashed into a barrel of fish—”

“And we all landed in this pile of dead fish and got kind of stuck—”

“And we heard the fish seller yelling so we ran away—”

“Right into a crate of berries that someone was dragging because they’d gone bad—”

“And then there were two angry people chasing us—”

“So we hid behind the dry goods store—”

“And then it was late and we ran here.”

Dolora sighed heavily and said, “Did any of you think, for a second, that you could’ve caused a lot of damage? You could’ve hurt people.”

“I know…” Sigmun said. “Sorry.”

Dolora sighed again. “Nothing to be sorry for. Just don’t try anything like that again! You could’ve died. I was worried about you.”

“Sorry, Dolora,” Simonn said.

“It’s fine, Simonn. Just…keep yourselves safe. You too, Dianna.” I do dumb things like that, too (especially with Mariek around), I just don’t get caught. I think Dolora knows. 

“Yes, Dolora.”

“Right. Now that that’s settled, it’s just normal stew for dinner tonight. I didn’t have time for something nice.”

“It’s fine,” Simonn said. “You make the best stew anyways.”

“Thank you, Simonn.”

“You’re welcome.”

I know Simonn tries to pretend that compliments aren’t really his thing, but he’s really very kind.

I stayed for dinner and then went home. I can’t believe my friends did something that crazy! I mean, besides that Mother would yell at me for it, I think it was pretty insane. I hope they’re both alright, because that was a pretty silly and dangerous thing to do. I’m sure they are; we’re always alright in the end.

 

30 April 1612

Exciting news! Today we were all talking and Sigmun mentioned that Dolora’s taking him to the city in January for five days, which is a long time. 

“Oh. So we won’t be seeing you for a while then,” I said. 

“No, no, you misunderstood,” Sigmun laughed. “I’m inviting you. Mama said you two can come, too, if you like.”

“Really?” Simonn asked. “The city? As in, the city-the city?”

“What other city could I possibly mean?” Sigmun asked. “Yes, the city. We’re going to stay with my great-aunt Matilda and Mama’s going to visit with all her old friends and she says if you come, we can explore the city together!” 

“You’re kidding,” I said. 

“I’m not!” Sigmun retaliated. “We leave January sixteenth and come back on the twenty-second. Two traveling days and five days in the city.” 

“I’ll go,” Simonn said. “I don’t know what I’ll tell my parents, but I’ll go.” 

“I’d love to go,” I said. “But my mother…”

“We’ll help you come up with something,” Simonn said. 

“Yeah,” Sigmun agreed. “You can’t miss your chance to see the city! Anyways, it’d be lonely with just us two.” 

“Thanks,” I said, and I meant it, because it does mean a lot to me that they’d help me lie to my mother so I can come with them to see the city. Also, it’s nice to know they appreciate my company. 

“So, we’ll be seeing the city in…eight months!” Simonn said, grinning from ear to ear. “Jeez. I’ve always wanted to see the city. Museums, libraries…”

“I bet they have theaters,” Sigmun added. 

“And a huge marketplace!” I said. “It’ll be amazing.” 

We talked about everything we’ll see in the city for a long time, until Simonn and I had to go home. The city! I’m sure I’ll find something to tell Mother. We’re going to the city!


	9. Mother and Father

1 May 1612

I’ve been trying to avoid the topic in my head, but Father’s coming home soon. Mother’s been drinking so much recently I’m not sure she remembers. I think he’ll be home in about a week.

Well, Mother remembered partly. Enough that she started obsessively cleaning the house and sent me to buy nice food at the market. And she tried to make me put on makeup yet again. I’m sick to death of it.

 

2 May 1612

My father comes home twice a year:  
Once in late November  
Once in early May.  
He gives me a toy  
From a far-off land  
Asia or Africa or India  
Somewhere I’ve never been  
And he pats me on the head  
And says, “Happy birthday, son,” (In November)  
Or, “I’m proud of you, John,” (In May).  
And he eats dinner with Mother and me  
Spends one night here  
Leaves in the morning  
And goes on his merry way.

But…  
I’m a girl  
In a girl’s body.  
I was born in August  
August twenty-second, a stormy Sunday  
And the toy is for a little boy  
(Five or so)  
And he says a number at least three years  
From my age.  
Last November, he said thirteen.  
I was sixteen.  
And my name’s not John  
Or Joan, or Jane, or Jean  
Or even something common like Mary.  
It’s Dianna  
(Like the huntress  
Like the goddess).

My father comes home twice a year  
And each time  
He forgets a bit more.

And there’s my poem for 1612.

 

3 May 1612

Father left today and he left me with that awful loneliness again. It’s just…he’s my father. Isn’t a father supposed to be proud of his children? Maybe I’m not his daughter by blood, but he’s still supposed to be my father! It would…it would just be nice if someone was proud of me, for once.

 

4 May 1612

I think Dolora’s nervous about visiting the city. We were trying to think of something to tell Mother and Dolora stood up and started pacing and just generally fidgeting a good deal. Maybe the woman she loved lives in the city and she’s worried about seeing her again. I certainly would be.

A whole stack of letters came for Dolora today and she read them all faster than I’ve ever seen anyone read. When I asked, she just said. “My friends,” and held one letter tight enough to wrinkle it. “From the city.” So I nodded and left her alone. She must be tense, waiting to see her friends like that. And maybe even the woman she loves.

 

5 May 1612

Today we practiced some fancy calligraphy and I was tired and my hand was shaking, and Sigmun said, “Here. Let me help.” He rested his chin on my shoulder and held my pen hand in his and his chest was pressed against my back and he guided my hand across the page to write the alphabet in neat calligraphy letters. I could feel every single movement of his body and every single beat of his heart and his hand on mine was warm and soft and strong and I felt my whole face heat up and turn crimson. Simonn smirked and I glared at him.

Anyways, Sigmun helped me write my name and I’m probably going to keep it because I’m just a sentimental idiot that way.

 

7 May 1612

We went into the village today and apparently it’s Hannah’s sister’s birthday.

“Eleanor?”

“Eleanor. She’s fourteen today.”

“I thought you only had two sisters,” Neolla interjected.

“Eleanor doesn’t talk to people much. She keeps to herself,” Hannah said quietly.

“Like you?” Mariek teased. I glared at her.

“Kind of…” Hannah said. “But she doesn’t have anyone like you guys.”

“Too bad,” I said. “Does she just not talk much?”

“Yeah. She likes being alone. Not like Alice or Dorothy.” (Alice is ten, Dorothy nineteen.)

“You know, you could’ve made less of a deal of turning sixteen, but I’m not sure how,” Neolla pointed out. “What was that, March…sixteenth?”

“Mm-hmm. But with Simonn’s mother and everything—”

“Right. because you looooove him,” Mariek taunted. Hannah blushed the color of red wine and looked at her feet.

“I just…I just like him. A lot. Like I’m full of butterflies.”

“That’s what it’s like to be in love. That, and being run over by a horse and then falling out of a tree,” Mariek said. She certainly put her finger on what I feel about him. I used to think Mariek’s loves were mostly lust, but now I think she must know how it feels to be in love.

 

8 May 1612

I dreamed about the two girls again. In this one, the older girl held out something to me. It looked like an old book, bound with leather and pages swollen with handwritten words and water stains and age. “Yours,” she said. “Yours.” She kept talking, but all I heard was “yours” and (once or twice) “thank you.” I tried to take the book, but I could never quite reach it, no matter how hard I tried. The younger girl had a book, too, but it was new, and she held it close to her chest. I think they were both journals, but the old one didn’t look like it was mine.

I talked to my friends about my weird dreams of the two girls today.

“Do you guys ever have weird dreams? Like, really weird dreams?”

Simonn gave me a look.

“Sorry.”

“Sometimes I have dreams about these two boys, one who’s a bit younger than me and one who’s a little older, and I think they’re from the future too,” Sigmun said. 

“What?!” I kind of screamed.

“Wait—” Simonn said. “You have those dreams too?!”

“I do too!” I added. “And you can’t talk to them, but they look like you, but—”

“Not enough to be you? And they look like siblings?” Sigmun added.

“They even have the two different eyes!” Simonn said. “And the right one’s blue and the left one’s brown.”

“The older girl in my dreams is always carrying a baby,” I said. “And I think she knows me.”

“The older one in my dreams always looks like he’s really frustrating about not talking and the younger one always looks annoyed,” Sigmun said.

“I don’t know if the older one is okay or not in my dreams because he always looks like he’s somewhere else in his head. And the younger one looks annoyed, too.”

“The younger one is my dreams always looks kind of guarded,” I said. I just couldn’t believe they had these dreams, too. And I saw Dolora watching us carefully, like she maybe had that sort of dream as well.

“This is weird,” Simonn said. “So not only do I accurately predict my sibling’s survival, we all dream about pairs of people who look like us and each other…who we’ve never met but who sometimes know us?”

“I think that’s just me,” I said. “She seems like she’s got something very important to tell me.”

“Huh,” Sigmun said. “I wonder what it means.”

“Beats me,” Simonn said. “Unless they’re important people from our futures. I’d prefer we’d be the important people in each other’s futures, but who knows.”

“This is surreal,” Sigmun added. He shook his head and I nodded.

What on Earth are these dreams about?

 

9 May 1612

I want to cry and I don’t know why. Or, I don’t know what particular thing it is. Maybe it’s Mother screaming at me that I will never be loved, and I will never deserve love, and screaming at me for every insecurity I possess, which is a good number. Maybe it’s that I tried, I really did try, to tell him today, and all I could do was stammer and then run home. Maybe it’s that my throat hurts from screaming and thirst and just being so tired. Maybe it’s just that I know how hopeless and useless I am.

Usually I curl up on my bed and bury my face in my knees when I want to cry, so at least I can cry without the world watching. (That’s how it feels. Lonely and yet watched.) But I’ve taken to writing recently. I don’t know if it’s better for me or not, but I certainly hope so.

 

11 May 1612

Being friends with him is so hard sometimes. I like his friendship, and I would never give up my best friend for anything, but it’s hard being so close to him all the time because it reminds me of how I’ll never be able to tell him I love him. Whenever he’s close to me, I feel almost more real. I feel like his skin is covered in needles whenever he touches me, but in a good way. I hug my friends a lot (at least partially out of habit) and whenever I hug him, I feel his whole body pressed against me and it’s very…I don’t know the word. I just feel excited and nervous and a little bit in love.

I wonder, if Sigmun were to love me, would he still be my friend? Can you be friends with someone you love? I’ve heard it said that the best marriages are to people who are also best friends. Most marriages are arranged and the two hardly ever meet beforehand, so how you can marry a best friend remains a mystery to me.

 

12 May 1612

We plan to try to spend the night in the woods on June sixth. I think that’ll be an adventure. 

I had that dream again. That awful, awful nightmare. I hate it. 

 

13 May 1612

I’m feeling flustered again because today, when we were reading after working on the bridge, he kissed me on the cheek. I am completely aware that it’s ridiculous, but it’s still making me blush. He was reading and Simonn and I were listening and I heard him cough and then he said, “I’m gonna get some water.”

“S’alright, I got it,” I said. It’s just polite. 

“Oh. Thanks,” he said. I poured three cups of water and brought them back. I gave one to Simonn, who said, “Thanks,” set one on the table for myself, and I handed one to Sigmun. “Thanks, Dianna,” he said. I sat next to him on the couch and he didn’t say anything for a moment, then he leaned over and pressed a kiss on my cheek. I felt my face start to burn and my hands felt shaky, like I was a sapling in a tornado. it was that overall feeling of falling out of a tree all over again. 

How am I going to deal with this? 

 

15 May 1612

Mother tried to make me try on a white dress today, as if I wouldn’t figure out she intended it for a wedding dress. Besides that I want to make my own wedding dress, I don’t want to get married! How hard is that to understand? How hard can it be for her to just let me be? I even learned to lace up my bodice on my own so I wouldn’t have to rely on her; can’t she realize that? 

I wonder if she wants to believe I need her, or at least that I love her. 

 

16 May 1612

Mother tried to cut my hair today! With scissors! I’m so mad I could scream! It’s not fair! She can’t choose what I will do with my hair! I have the same right to choice as she does! 

At any rate, I got away from her and when I came home from working on the clearing, Mother had shorter, roughly cut hair and I don’t know if I’m crazy or not, but I think I saw her crying. 

 

17 May 1612

I feel a little confused. I have this anger towards Mother, and I don’t love her, and I wish I could escape her, but I know she’s heartbroken and though I make her sadder, I suppose I could make her happier. If I tried, I could put on makeup and wear the right sort of dress and marry the man she wants me to, but then I’d be miserable for the rest of my life. Maybe it’s selfish, but I don’t want that. 

What do I do? 

 

20 May 1612

Simonn was squinting at something in the distance today and he asked us what it was. 

“That’s a coyote, Simonn,” I said. “Are your eyes okay?”

“How can you see that? It’s just a big blur!” he said, squinting more. 

“Simonn?” Sigmun said. “I think you might need eyeglasses.”

“Oh, that’s just great,” Simonn snapped. “I can’t afford them!” 

“Don’t worry, you can save up,” I said. “You’ll be able to get some soon, I’m sure.” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Simonn said grumpily. Poor Simonn. I can’t even imagine having bad vision; it must be bizarre. 

 

21 May 1612

Is it so wrong to desire the presence of another person in one’s life? Is it really so wrong that I want Sigmun to be in my life differently than he is now? Is it such a crime to fall in love? 

 

23 May 1612

We stayed inside from the storm today. Simonn and I dried out by the fire while Sigmun paced nervously. He’s never liked thunderstorms. I think it’s probably an old fear because Dolora said she found him right after a thunderstorm. I’d be scared of thunderstorms too. 

But as it is, I rather like them. I like the rain and I like the loud thunder and I like the bright flashes of lightning. I like it best when it’s warm out and I can stand in the rain and it’s not cold and miserable. It feels…cleansing. I feel like I can wash away everything my mother piles on me and everything I pile on myself. And I love how loud the thunder is, how bright the lightning can be; I like how it overwhelms the senses and lets you exist in a world of only light and sound just for a second. 

Maybe I’m crazy, but I love storms. 

 

24 May 1612

My life is dull. I wake up, I get ready, I eat breakfast, I go to Sigmun and Dolora’s, we read or work on one of our projects or explore, I go home, I eat dinner, I battle with my mother, I write, I go to bed. Nothing interesting happens to me. 

Simonn noted that today while he and I were talking. 

“We read, we work on projects, you stare at Sigmun until I could cut the tension with a knife—”

“Will you drop it? I said June.”

“You’re running out of time,” Simonn reminded me. 

“I know! Believe me, I know! Can we just go read or something now?”

“Fine.” 

So we read a book on Russian grammar while water dripped from the trees outside and I watched Sigmun read because he is quite stunning and I like looking at him. 

 

26 May 1612

I could tell Sigmun was upset today and I was worried about him. Simonn stopped by for a few minutes, just long enough to say that his brothers had been fighting the other day and now he has to stay home with them for the day. He had that look that makes me remember how much he cares for his siblings.

At any rate, Sigmun and I went to the clearing and sat in the pine tree, about halfway up. That’s where the best branches for sitting are. And like I said, I could tell he was upset. “Sigmun? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“If I believed that, I wouldn’t be asking.”

He didn’t speak for a long time. “I found her.”

“Who?”

“My birth mother.”

“Oh.” I swung around to his branch and sat next to him. “What happened?”

“Well, you know how I say I don’t remember it? I don’t remember her?”

“Yeah.”

“Well…I guess I’m not entirely truthful about that.”

“I know.”

“What?!”

“Sigmun, you remember your name.”

“Oh yeah… Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. It’s not exactly fun to talk about. Anyways?”

“Well, I remember her some, too. And yesterday, I was in the market alone, because you know how Simonn and you left kind of early, and I saw this woman and I thought I recognized her. She sort of looked at me for a really long time before she asked me if my last name was Vantas. And I told her it was, and she looked me up and down and said, ‘May I speak with you?’ So I said yes, and we went to the park, and she asked me if I was sixteen, and I said yes, and she asked if I remembered her. And I did, I mean, she looked just like all my memories of my birth mother, which I guess aren’t many, but I have a couple. Except…much older. And I said yes, I did, and she asked me how I was alive, so I told her about Mama. And she sighed and said, ‘You know, you were supposed to die.’ So I asked her what she meant and she told me she abandoned me because she wasn’t married and I was supposed to die. Then she sighed again and said, ‘I hope I never see you again. Goodbye.’ And she just stood up and walked away.” He’d sort of curled in on himself like he does when he’s upset and I know it’s because he’s trying to protect himself. “I was supposed to die! What does that mean? She wanted me to die! She wanted me to die…” He kicked the tree trunk and I hugged him because he was so upset and I felt bad for him. His own birth mother planned for him to die!

“I’m sorry, Sigmun. That’s horrible.”

“She wanted me to die…”

“Well, I can tell you that Dolora certainly doesn’t. And I don’t. And neither does Simonn. Nor Neolla, or Mariek, or Sumner, or Candas, or Orvill, or Grantt, or Hannah. You know, we all care about you a lot. You’re my best friend.” Seeing him sad makes me sad, too. I don’t know why, but when my friends are upset, I feel upset, too. Especially him. I’ve seen him crying and I’ve seen him afraid and stressed and angry and everything. I’ve seen Simonn that way, too. I think that’s one of the most important parts of being best friends; that you’ve seen them in every state and you still like them and care about them.

“I always thought that if I ever found my birth mother, she might at least care about me, or regret abandoning me, or something. She never wanted this for me…she never wanted me to live.” He sounded halfway between sad and angry and I felt so bad for him, because I don’t care how much a mother regrets being a mother, she shouldn’t tell her child that they were suppose to die. I knew there was nothing I could say to make it better, but I tried.

“You know what? She’s not your mother if you don’t want her to be. She doesn’t have to be your mother. I mean, it’s your choice.”

“She’s not my mother,” he said angrily. “If she wanted me to die, then she’s not my mother.”

“And you never have to see her again. Hey, Sigmun?”

“Hm?”

“D’you remember when we were really little and we went swimming the second-ever time?”

“And I nearly drowned?”

“And Dolora pulled you out of the river and told you never to try something that reckless again.”

“And she screamed at me and hugged me so tight I thought she’d break my bones.”

“So you remember that? Because I think that’s why Dolora’s your mother. Because she loves you. You can choose, Sigmun.”

“She’s definitely my mother. I don’t care who my birth mother is. If she wanted me to die, then she’s not anything close to my mother.”

I hugged him again and I ruffled his hair (he pretends to hate it when I do that, but I can tell he doesn’t mind). “Hey,” I said. “It’s alright. Sometimes, the people you’re related to by blood just aren’t the best people to call family.” I know that all too well.

“Thanks, Dianna.”

“Any time. What are best friends for?”

He smiled and even though I could still see the heaviness in his eyes, I could also tell he was feeling much better. “You’re the best, Deedee.”

“Shut up…Siggy!”

“Okay, shut up! You know I hate being called Siggy!”

“And I hate being called Deedee!”

“Then don’t call me Siggy!”

“You started it!”

He stuck out his tongue and made a face. “Come on, let’s go pick berries.”

“It’s May! None of them are ripe yet.”

“Early berries get ripe round now!”

“How are you always this energetic?” Even though part of it was a front, he at least had the energy for that.

“Because I like to put things behind me! The past is the past and there’s nothing you can do to change it, so you might as well learn a thing or two and then keep on moving.”

“You are so…I don’t even know what!” I laughed, because he is! There’s some indescribable quality about him that I just really like.

He laughed (a bit weakly) and basically slid down the tree. We’re all good and tree climbing, and he’s good at getting out of trees fast. He always wins at tag. But I always win at hide-and-seek. I don’t care that games are childish; I think they’re fun. I’d rather be childish longer because adults always seem so sad or bitter or drunk or lonely.

I hope Sigmun doesn’t meet his birth mother again because she doesn’t seem like a nice person and she’s not good for him. I want him to be happy.

 

29 May 1612

Simonn said he heard a ghost story in the village about a spirit who waits on the road to the city and preys on men who are unfaithful. Apparently her husband in life started going to prostitutes, and one night she came home from the city and found him with one of them and killed both before killing herself and now she’s cursed to wander the path there. A man from our village recently disappeared on the way to the city and they say he wasn’t faithful to his wife and it must be the ghost.

I prefer to tell the story about the children who went into the woods and were eaten by wolves, because I know there are no wolves in our woods. The most dangerous animal around here is a coyote.

 

31 May 1612

Mother tried to make me use that awful hair thinner again and I escaped by yanking myself away from her and throwing the whole bottle out a window. She screamed how awful I was and how much I must hate her, to do this to her. I don’t know if I hate her, but I certainly dislike her, and I most definitely don’t want to show her any affection. I don’t think she deserves it.


	10. Breathing, Or Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything happens at once.

1 June 1612

  
We finished the bridge today! Planning and hard work have paid off and it’s a fine, usable bridge. I can’t wait to explore the other side.

  
It’s funny. When I see him these days, I feel like I’m full of bubbles. I feel like floating, but I also feel how fragile this whole situation is. Any second, needlelike news could pop every single bubble and I would sink again, after letting my hopes and dreams getting so high.

  
But against all odds, I like the feeling of bubbles. I like feeling light and free and happy. I like seeing him smile and I like hearing him laugh and I just like being around him.

  
I must be losing my mind.

 

 

2 June 1612

  
Mother was upset today about Father, I think. I can’t remember running into a single woman besides Dolora who didn’t carry around some burden of sadness. I don’t want to be an adult woman because I know I’ll have to get married at some point and then I’ll be my husband’s property. I don’t find that fair at all and I certainly don’t want to be owned. I am a person, not a possession! I will not be owned!

  
If I married Sigmun, would he treat me that way? Honestly, I don’t think so. Maybe I’m an optimist, but I know him better than most and I don’t think he’d treat me like his property.

  
Oh, and we explored some on the other side of the river today. We followed a deer trail for a bit until we had to head back to get home before dark.

 

 

3 June 1612

  
My entire mind feels like lint. I’m so tired because I didn’t sleep a wink last night after I woke up from a nightmare and I couldn’t move, I couldn’t even open my eyes. I was too afraid to open my eyes. When I did open my eyes, I thought I felt a person in my room, a thief or a murderer or worse, and I couldn’t move and I was terrified. After a few moments, I was finally able to move, but I was too afraid to fall back asleep. So I stayed up sewing until dawn. I can’t even think straight, and though my friends agreed to stay inside and rest today, I’m still scared to fall asleep.

 

 

4 June 1612

  
I couldn’t help falling asleep last night and though I had one of my nightmares, the drowning ones, I woke up and I could move and everything. I’m glad of that, because I don’t function well without sleep and I know it.

  
We crossed the bridge again today and followed a different deer path to a clearing full of berry bushes. They looked fine, but then we took a few back to Dolora and apparently they’re nightshade berries. We won’t be eating those anytime soon.

 

 

5 June 1612

  
Mother and I had an argument today over some man called David Cooper she wants me to marry.

  
“Mother, he’s ten years older than I am!”

  
“He’ll support you and you can get out of my hair!”

  
“I can support myself, thank you very much!”

  
“No you can’t! You could never find a job!”

  
“I have a job, remember? Remember?”

  
“So you can have a halfway decent dowry, because no man would ever choose you for any other reason! Remember that?”

  
“How do you know that? Maybe a man will fall in love with me, and not my money!” Which they won’t, but Mother doesn’t have to know that.

  
“Don’t kid yourself, you useless girl! No one could ever love you!”

  
“Then why do you bother with me?”

  
“Because I have no choice, that’s why!”

  
“You could throw me out on the streets! I’d be happier that way!”

  
“And then where would my reputation be?”

  
“Nowhere, exactly where being the village drunk woman gets you!” That might’ve been a little harsh. Or a lot harsh.

  
“Excuse me?” She slapped me across the face and shouted, “Go to your room! Go to your room and if you dare come out for the rest of the day, you’ll get worse! I mean it!”

  
“I don’t want to see you anyways!” I stormed up to my room and slammed the door and now I’m just trying to get this awful weight off my chest by writing. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t.

 

 

6 June 1612

  
Tonight we head into the woods to stay the entire night there, or at least try. It’s incredibly frightening in the woods at night and I don’t want to panic and run away this time. I have a bag packed and everything, but I’m honestly kind of nervous.

 

 

7 June 1612

  
That could have gone a lot better.

  
It started out not so bad. It was dusk, and we set out bedrolls and everything, and we were going to just sit there and wait out the night, and take turns sleeping.

  
Then it started getting dark.

  
It’s warm out these days, so we weren’t cold, but it was scary and I was shivering.

  
“You scared?” Simonn whispered.

  
“No,” Sigmun said.

  
“I’m not,” I added. “Not at all.”

  
“Me neither,” Simonn said, nodding. “Not scared at all.”

  
We sat there, perfectly still, for a very long time. Until I thought I heard something move.

  
“Did you hear that?”

  
“What?”

  
“Something moved.”

  
“No it didn’t,” Simonn said. “You’re paranoid.”

  
“Am not.”

  
“You so are.”

  
“Sh! Guys!” Sigmun interrupted. “I heard it too.”

  
“What?” Simonn asked. “That’s impossible.”

  
“There it was again!” Sigmun shouted.

  
“I heard it too!” Simonn blurted. “Oh my goodness, oh my—”

  
I heard a loud, loud noise and shrieked. Sigmun screamed and ducked behind me and Simonn ducked behind him and then we all heard it again and screamed louder. “LET’S GET OUT OF HERE!” Sigmun yelled.

  
“Agreed!” I shouted, grabbing his hand and running for my life. We ran about halfway home before I realized it. “Wait—our things!”

  
“Dammit, dammit, dammit!” Simonn shouted. We stopped and stood in a circle.

  
“Not it, not going, I am not going,” Sigmun said, shaking his head and tightening his grip on my hand. My heart was already pounding, and now it got ten times worse.

  
“I sure as hell am not going back there,” Simonn said. “Dianna?”

  
“I hate you, I hate the both of you.”

  
“I’ll—I’ll go with you,” Sigmun offered. “If…if you like?”

  
“Thanks,” I said gratefully.

  
“And I’ll just wait here?” Simonn asked. “Are you crazy?”

  
“Stay here or come back with us,” I said.

  
“I’m staying here.”

  
“Fine.” I ran back with Sigmun and we both grabbed everything we could and then I heard another noise and he screamed and clung to me and I screamed and clung to him and we had everything so we ran back to Simonn, who took his fair share of things from us and ran.

  
When we got back to Dolora’s, we were all out of breath and scared and Sigmun was clinging to Simonn and I and I said, “What the hell was that?”

  
“I don’t know!” Simonn said, panting. “I’m not leaving the house for the rest of the night.”

  
“Me neither,” I said. “I’m gonna sleep on the couch.”

  
My friends went upstairs to sleep in Sigmun’s room and I collapsed on the couch because I was afraid and exhausted. I’m writing because it was horribly frightening and though I’m certain it was nothing, it was scary.

  
Dolora sighed and smiled and rolled her eyes rather fondly when we were all home in the morning. Then we went to the place we camped and there was nothing there, except some coyote footprints. So I guess it was a coyote.

  
I feel incredibly dumb.

 

 

9 June 1612

  
I had the nightmare again last night. This time, he taunted me for hoping, because what was the use in having hope if I was hopeless and everything I’d ever try to do would fail? I don’t want to admit how much that hurt, even in a dream. Dreams are awful messes for me, except the very good ones I don’t like to think about.

  
We explored the other side of the bridge today again, even though it was a hundred degrees in the shade. The forest is usually pretty cool.

 

 

10 June 1612

  
I almost died today.

  
We went swimming because it’s burning hot out all the time. Like always, we just dove into the river with our clothes on (because what else do you wear to go swimming) and we were swimming around and Sigmun was doing all sorts of crazy tricks like he can do. He lives right near the river, so he’s had the most practice. Simonn likes to jump from the tree branch into the water and splash Sigmun and I. I really prefer just swimming around, though admittedly I can’t do any fancy tricks with a skirt on. Sigmun’s clothes were all flattened to his skin and I know it’s wrong but I couldn’t help sneaking glances at him! He’s really strong, but not in a sailor sort of way with bulging muscles, just sort of…strong. I hope he didn’t notice.

  
Anyways, I don’t know how it happened, but the river can have a pretty strongcurrent some days and today was one of those days. I’m a decent swimmer, but Simonn jumped in and I was treading water by the edge and I got pushed out of this little eddy we swim in and right into the current and my head slipped under and I couldn’t stop it. I just remember everything turned shades of blue and gray and I couldn’t breathe and everything was shaped funny and I was kind of cold and dizzy. I remember I broke the surface a couple times and I flailed around, looking for something to hold on to, and I tried to scream out so someone might help me. My ankle hit something and it hurt really badly and I tried to scream again but there was water in my mouth and then I couldn’t breathe and I fainted.

  
Sigmun told me that he and Simonn chased me down the river and finally he dove in and pulled me into another eddy he knew about and then he and Simonn got me out of the water and Simonn ran back to the house for Dolora and Sigmun said he thought I wasn’t breathing, but I had a pulse, so he kept trying to get me to breathe. The exact opposite of that awful nightmare.

  
Well, I woke up with my head on someone’s lap and someone was screaming and I coughed because there was something in my throat and I blinked my eyes open and I tried to figure out who was yelling. It was Sigmun and he was shouting, “Dianna! Don’t be dead! Breathe or…something!” I blinked again and I tried to sit up but I couldn’t and I coughed again, but harder. He hugged me tightly so my head was close to his chest and he said, “I thought you were dead…” I wanted to say something reassuring, but I just started coughing yet again. He didn’t let me go until Dolora ran up to us and she made him let me go and had me sit against a rock so she could check me for injury. I was fine (save a twisted ankle), so she made Sigmun help me back (I don’t know why, I could walk. Sort of. Not really) and we sat inside for the rest of the day because I couldn’t really do much. Sigmun looked very distressed and Simonn kept apologizing because he said it was his fault I fell into the current. I told him not to worry, but he has a habit of worrying a lot. I think it’s because of his siblings. Sigmun just kept looking upset and asking me if I was alright. I think it’s sweet the way he does that, but I don’t know why. Why would he worry about me?

  
Anyways, I’m feeling better now, but Mother was suspicious. She told me that swimming leads to all sorts of horrible things, and I suppose it’s because some people don’t wear anything when they go swimming. I’d never do that, though. It’s a river; I’d freeze. I just don’t mind my clothes getting wet on these hot days. So I told her that at work, we were dyeing fabric and someone splashed water on me. I hope this never happens again. It was horrible.

 

 

11 June 1612

  
Sigmun kept asking me if I was okay again today. I told him I was fine, because I am fine. He’s such a sweetheart.

  
I can’t stop thinking about my nightmare, though. This whole thing has been the exact opposite of that particular nightmare. I mean, I did start drowning, but it wasn’t because of my inability to swim. And though I couldn’t breathe, and everything was blurry and distorted and confusing, Sigmun pulled me out of the river instead of holding me under. And on top of that, he didn’t taunt me over some worry of mine (though he wouldn’t, anyways), he seemed upset because he thought I was hurt. Everything was the opposite of my nightmare.

  
This is embarrassing to admit, but his arms around me were so nice, even though I was limp and soaked and coughing. I really liked feeling someone holding me so close, and I liked that he was so gentle when he helped me home. He acted like I was one of Dolora’s vases, all fragile and crystalline and delicate. I’d like to believe he was trying to be gentle because he loves me, but on the other hand, I’ve done the same before (except now of course he’s grown much too tall for that) and I meant nothing by it. His touch just felt tender, and kind, and maybe even loving.

  
But then, I’m wishing it so hard that it’s becoming real for me.

  
Anyways, we read some of my favorite book today and I’m grateful that my friends were there because I felt rather awful. Almost drowning makes one feel awful no matter the circumstances.

 

 

12 June 1612

  
Oh my goodness. Oh my…I can’t seem to say anything else. I can’t. I can’t believe it.

  
Simonn was busy with his family today because two of his brothers caught chicken pox (thank heaven it’s not smallpox), so Sigmun and I walked to the clearing without the pine tree in the middle. There’s a log just the right size to sit on, so we sat there and just talked about things. We talked about Neolla going to school, and Patrik making machines (he wants to be an engineer), and about history and books and poetry and just all sorts of things.

  
And then he started talking about me. Except he framed it different.

  
“There’s this girl in the village, and she’s gorgeous.”

  
“Oh?”

  
“Mm-hmm. She’s got chestnut-colored hair and green eyes like no one else and she’s short, but that doesn’t matter. And if you look at her from the side, she’s got the most perfect profile, especially when she puts her hair behind her ears. But she usually walks with her head down and her hair covering her face so no one can see how lovely she is. And if she’s walking like I wish she would, confident and happy, it’s because she’s with her friends and she’s laughing and pulling them along to see something new and amazing.”

  
“She sounds really beautiful.” I honestly had no idea who he could be talking about, but I was so jealous (the green-eyed monster rears its ugly head. How ironic) and I would’ve been jealous of her even if Sigmun didn’t clearly love her.

  
“She is. But she’s also really clever. She can read and write and do math and understand things. She sees the world different from everyone else. She sees things that need to be fixed and she sees that it doesn’t have to be the way it is. She’s also the kindest girl I’ve ever met. She always thinks about everything she does in case it hurts someone. And on top of all that, she has no idea that she’s that amazing. She has absolutely no idea how wonderful she is. She thinks she’s nothing. And she couldn’t be more wrong.”

  
“Sounds like someone you really like.”

  
“She is. And you know what the best part is?”

  
“What?”

  
“She’s one of my very best friends.”

  
I sort of stared at him for a while, because who could it be? And he sort of fidgeted and I realized he was talking about me!

  
“I’ve never kissed anyone. Except Neolla on a dare,” he said kind of suddenly.

  
“Me neither.”

  
“Do…do you want to kiss?”

  
“I…uh…sure.” I decided I had something to say, too. “There’s this boy. He’s got hair the color of almonds and eyes that flash red in the sun and skin gone tan from all the time he spends outside. He has the most beautiful face and the best smile. He’s growing like a weed and he doesn’t wear shoes because none fit him. And he walks like he’s excited about everything, always with a spring in his step, and he’s always smiling. He’s brave and strong like there’s nothing to be afraid of and he’s curious like everything is new every day. He’s kind and he always puts other people before himself. He always looks out for his friends and even people he doesn’t know. I don’t think he’s got a clue how amazing he is, either. And…”

  
“And?”

  
“And he’s about to be my first kiss.”

  
And I leaned in and I was going to kiss him but we both missed and his nose bumped into mine and I giggled a little because I was just so nervous! And then I kissed him for real and his lips were soft, just like I imagined they’d be, and he didn’t wrap his arms around my waist or touch my hair or anything like that, and it lasted all of five seconds, but it was even better than I ever thought it would be.

  
And then of course I could’ve kissed him again (I certainly wanted to), but Dolora shouted for Sigmun to come home for dinner and I had to go home, too, so I left.

  
I can’t believe it.

 

 

13 June 1612

  
That kiss didn’t help me stop the dreams at all, like I hoped it would. Instead, it made them worse. I had three last night! Picnics and swimming and dinners and walks and kissing, always kissing. Actually, I don’t want to talk about other things that happen in my dreams. I can’t control them and it’s humiliating. Mother would kill me if she found out. Thank heaven she can’t read! But Sigmun can, so I can’t risk this journal leaving my house. I wish I could just kiss him again and then I could stop thinking about him all the time. I hope that’s how it works because this is driving me crazy.

  
I can’t stop doubting things nowadays, most of all myself. I wish there was someone I could talk to. I obviously can’t talk to Mother. I can’t talk to Dolora because she’s Sigmun’s mother and I can’t tell her how I feel about him. I can’t talk to Sigmun for obvious reasons. I can’t talk to Simonn because I’d be too embarrassed to talk about love. I can’t talk to my friends in the village because they gossip (which I guess I’m guilty of, too) and I don’t want rumors spreading about me because Mother will find out. I’m going crazy like this!

 

 

14 June 1612

  
Mother’s been suspecting I have a suitor she doesn’t know about and has decided that I’m not to leave the house. How long will she keep this up? Not forever, obviously. But maybe long enough for Sigmun to find another girl in the village, a prettier girl with money and a sweet mind who’s not outspoken and so unfeminine like I am. He’s so handsome, he could have any girl he wants. Why am I the one getting flowers? I’m nothing special. There is no reason for him (or anyone else for that matter) to love me! I’m not pretty and I’m certainly not one of the girls who listens to her husband and bears him children and does not question him. I’d be a horrible wife! I’d do what I do now: call him out when he’s being stupid, do what I like when I want to, and I’d certainly bear him children but because I want to.

  
I must go, though. I think a squirrel is outside my window.

 

 

14 June, later

  
It was Sigmun, throwing a pebble. He looked so worried! He asked me if I was sick, probably because I have come over almost every day for the past ten years without fail and I swore up and down I’d come today to work on the clearing. I told him I was fine, and he…I can’t believe what he said.

  
“Dianna?”

  
“Sigmun? What’re you doing here?”

  
“I came to see if you’re okay.”

  
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”

  
“Cuz…” (He scratched the back of his leg with his other foot). “You didn’t come today so I thought you might be sick so I brought you something I was gonna give you today.” (He said all that in one breath; I barely caught it.)

  
“Thanks. Uh…how’re you gonna get it up here?” (My room is on the second floor and my window is tiny.)

  
“I guess I’ll have to throw it…”

  
(I ducked and he threw it.)

  
“So…will I see you tomorrow?”

  
“Mother won’t let me leave the house.”

  
“Oh…” (His face kind of drooped.)

  
“You can come back and this time I’ll have something for you!” (I tried to sound perky.)

  
“Really?” (I guess it worked because he did perk up.)

  
“Of course! But…maybe you should go before Mother finds you.”

  
“Okay. See you tomorrow!”

  
“See you!” (He ran away into the woods and his cloak made him look like a romantic knight…)

 

 

15 June 1612

  
I fell asleep with his letter in my hands. I guess there’s no more doubt that he loves me, though heaven knows why. He wrote me a love letter. I’m kind of embarrassed to paste it here, but no one else reads my journal except me. So here it is:

 

_Dearest Dianna,_

_  
I’ve never written a letter before to anyone besides my aunt who lives in the city, and that’s only because Mama tells me I ought to. This is different, I think. So…I suppose I should just begin._

_  
First of all, I just wanted to say that I think you’re beautiful. I mean it. I know you don’t think you’re really “anything special” as you put it, but I completely disagree. Your hair is like spun bronze, except it never corrodes. And your eyes are deeper than the night and more luminescent than the moon. You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen; you light up the entire room when you smile with those bright eyes. You are…I don’t have the words to express how gorgeous you are._

_  
But I’d be horrible if I just told you you’re pretty. I’d be shallow and you’d probably hate me. You’re also clever in a way most people don’t bother to be. You challenge people and you don’t care what other people think and you’re…you’re just so smart and you work for it. You read and study and write and that’s just so amazing, especially considering everyone who tells you you shouldn’t. And you’re not afraid to talk back. You don’t back down from people and…and that’s just amazing. So I guess what I’m trying to say is…_

_  
So I’ve been bringing your flowers for about a year now. And that’s because I…because…(you have no idea how much I’m shaking right now) because I love you. And I just thought I’d tell you. I’ve written more than twenty versions of this letter and I threw them all out because I didn’t think any of them were good enough for you, but here I am, giving you a letter that still isn’t good enough._

_  
So…I just wanted to tell you that I love you with all my heart._

_Love,_

_Sigmun_

  
I’ve just read it again and now I’m shaking too hard to write anymore.

 

 

16 June 1612

  
He’s coming back tonight. I can’t believe it. He loves me! He actually loves me! He likes me the way I am, outspoken and clever and everything! He loves me!

  
I need to calm down.

  
I’m writing him a letter to tell him I love him, too. So far I’ve written three drafts. He should be coming soon, so here’s a copy of my final draft.

Dearest Sigmun,

  
I don’t know how to start a letter, either. So, like you, I guess here goes.

  
I love you, too. (I thought I might as well tell him right away.) I’ve loved you for so long now and I never even dared to dream I could tell you. I can’t ever hope to tell you how much I love you, even in this letter.

  
You’re amazingly handsome, too. Your hair is exactly the color of leaves in November and it looks so perfect, no matter how messy. Your eyes are like chocolate, and when the light shines just right through the trees in the clearing, they look a beautiful shade of crimson. You’re the single most handsome man I’ve ever met.

  
There’s this smile you have. It’s a sweet, earnest smile that you give me when you bring me flowers. And it’s the most beautiful expression I’ve ever seen on anyone’s face because you are happy and kind and…everything you are is written on your face. You’re brave and you’re clever and you’re kind and you’re compassionate and you’re strong and…I could go on, but you’re about to arrive and I’m running out of paper. So I’ll tell you more when I see you next.

  
I love you.

Love,

Dianna

 

 

17 June 1612

  
He looked terrified when he arrived today. I suppose something came up yesterday. I wanted to climb downstairs to see him, maybe hold his hand, or maybe…kiss him, but Mother was awake making a cup of tea, so I had to talk to him from my window. This is how it went.

  
“H-H-H-Hi Dianna…I…uh…” (He looked down and I could tell his entire face was scarlet). “Did you read my letter?”

  
“I did.” (I couldn’t say anymore at this point because my throat just completely closed off and he is far too perfect and I am far too imperfect for me to consider the possibility that he loves me.)

  
“Uh…I…what…wh-what did y-you think?”

  
(I didn’t respond, I just tossed him down my letter and tried to force my mouth open.)

  
“Oh. Uh…so you don’t…um…reciprocate?”

  
“No, no, I do!” (Oh, there’s my voice.) “I love you a lot and I really—” (I stopped because I wasn’t going to say out loud that I wanted to kiss him. My mouth does not always have a filter.)

  
“Wait, really?”

  
“Why else would I have been accepting the flowers for the past year?”

  
“I…I guess I didn’t think about that…”

  
“No, don’t say that…Hold on.”(I jumped out my window, against better judgment.) “Ouch!”

  
“Are you okay?”

  
“Fine, I think.” (I had to sit down on the ground because my ankle hurt.)

  
“Oh. Okay. Good.” (He sat down next to me and he looked down like the perfectly awkward sweetheart he is and I felt faint.) “Dianna…so…Iloveyou.”

  
“I love you too.” (He kind of leaned in then and I thought he was going to kiss me but he pulled away.)

  
“I…I have a weird question.”

  
“What?” (I was losing my voice again.)

  
“Does the time we kissed in the clearing count?”

  
“I…I don’t know. I thought you just wanted to have your first real kiss over with…”

  
“No!” (He sounded actually kind of afraid, besides of course the “I wouldn’t do that!” tone. I don’t know why.)

  
“Oh…”

  
“So…I guess maybe we should make sure we’ve had at least one kiss that counts?”

  
“I guess so…”

  
So he leaned in and I leaned and our noses bumped but then his lips were soft and smooth and I was kind of anxious but…it got so much better. I know this sounds odd (how can a person taste like anything), but he tasted like mint. His lips were pressed so tight against mine, and I was closer to him than anyone else, ever in my life. And everything just felt so…warm, and real, and there. I don’t know, he’s the only boy I’ve ever kissed and my first-and-a-half kiss. But it was amazing. And his hands were combing through my hair and I’d sort of flung my arms around his shoulders and…I don’t know. There has to be a word for this, this shaky feeling that made it next to impossible to climb back up to my room, this utter happiness that makes me want to stay up all night and faint to the floor at the same time.

  
Anyways, we finally broke apart because I had to breathe and he looked about ready to faint so I asked him if he was alright.

  
“Are you okay?”

  
“I’m…”

  
“Are you okay, though?”

  
“I’m perfect.” (His mouth was sort of half-open in shock.) “I mean…you have no idea how perfect that was.”

  
“I think I do.”

  
(I heard Mother finishing her tea.) “I’ve got to go in. She’ll check on me soon.”

  
“Oh. Okay.”

  
“Help me up?”

  
(He blushed even redder than he already was and I was sure he was going to faint this time.) “I…sure.”

  
“I’ve done this a million times before with trees.”

  
“Yeah.” (He stood right next to my house and locked his fingers together and braced his hands against his leg.) “Okay, go.”

  
(I put one of my feet on his hands and he lifted me up so I could reach the window. I grabbed onto the ledge and he moved his hands.) “Thanks, Sigmun.”

  
“You’re welcome, Dianna.” (He paused and fidgeted while I climbed up to my window and into my room.) “I love you.”

  
“I love you too.” (Mother was about to come in and I gave him a look and he ran again while I covered myself with a blanket and snuffed out the candle.)

 

 

18 June 1612

  
Another letter today. I don’t have enough room in my journal for them, so I think I’ll keep them in that jewelry box Mother got me when I was six and she loved me. He couldn’t stay long because Dolora had someone to care for, but he dropped off the letter and he smiled that sweet, awkward little smile and though it’s insane and illogical, I wish he could’ve stayed a bit longer.

 

 

19 June 1612

  
Sigmun came again today and he smiled all sweet and nervous like he does and he asked me something odd. “Why do you bother with all this just to see me?”

  
“I could ask the same thing of you!”

  
“I mean, you’re risking running into your mother and getting in a lot of trouble with her if you get caught and I know that’d be pretty bad for you.”

  
“I don’t care. She can’t do anything to me once I turn eighteen anyways.”

  
“Still.”

  
“You leave your house late and walk all the way here in the dark and risk the guards and the night watchman just to see me! Why bother with me?”

  
“Because I love you.”

  
“Well, I love you too. And I have something for you.”

  
“What?”

  
“Catch.” I tossed him down my letter (because I wrote another one).

  
“Thanks.”

  
“You’re welcome.” I was going to climb out my window again, even though I still have to wrap my ankle, but I heard Mother. “I have to go. See you tomorrow!”

  
“Bye. I love you!”

  
“I love you too.”

  
He is so romantic! Most of the men in the village only marry for lust that lasts for all of a year or less before they’ve married someone they don’t love and who doesn’t love them and then they’re stuck. If I’m…oh my goodness. I’m the girl he was talking about all those times I got to his house too early! I’m the girl he liked since he was twelve! I’m that girl! I…I can’t believe it. How could anyone think of me in that light?

  
It’s very startling to realize that the boy you’ve loved for more than a year has loved you for even longer. It’s equally bizarre to realize that he was too shy to tell you for most of that time. I just can’t believe it. I’m shaking too much to write; I really ought to just go to bed.

 

 

20 June 1612

  
I’m going to lose my head if Mother makes me stay inside much longer. I grew up in the forest! I grew up with books! I don’t belong inside with a pair of knitting needles! Mother doesn’t have any books except a Bible, and I don’t know where she keeps it. And she doesn’t know I can read, so I couldn’t even read that. And she doesn’t do anything besides needlepoint. She’s been doing the same one for three months! While I admire the patience, I do not have the ability to sit still that long unless I’m reading or do needlepoint without jabbing myself repeatedly with the needle.

 

 

21 June 1612

  
I’ve been stuck here all of a week and I’ve already knitted a whole scarf. By the time I get out, I’ll probably have knitted enough for the entire village. I was restless today and the only thing I did that had any worth was write a letter to Sigmun. I hardly ate anything because I wasn’t hungry and I haven’t been sleeping so much. I’ve been avoiding Mother as much as possible, but she is everywhere, it seems.

  
I must be losing my mind.

 

 

22 June 1612

  
I started a needlepoint today of my friends and I. I can’t believe I’m actually doing a needlepoint. Mother must be rubbing off on me. Either that or sitting inside for a week has driven me insane. Probably both. I treasure his letters both as sweet and loving and romantic as well as my only contact with the outside world. I wish I could climb out my window, but my ankle still aches and I think another eight-foot drop wouldn’t do it much good. I think I have a right to be upset with my mother this time.

 

 

23 June 1612

  
I tried sewing something today, I’m not sure what. I gave up almost as soon as I started and paced the house because I can’t stand this! I’m hardly hungry anymore and though I’d much rather be asleep, I can’t fall asleep, even with chamomile tea. Believe me, I’ve tried.

 

 

24 June 1612

  
I found Mother’s Bible today and I started reading it because I need to read something. I don’t mean to criticize Mother for liking sewing, but I can’t stand doing it for long. And I really can’t stand needlepoint. I just don’t have either the patience or the skills. I’m sure I’d be good if I practiced, but I’m too restless to practice anything. I need to get out of my house. I have to.

 

 

25 June 1612

  
Genesis is extremely eventful. It’s in Latin, of course, so I’ve been reading a bit faster than I would in English or Italian or something, but it is very dense literature. Anyways, I found out why people treat women so badly. They probably blame Eve for everything. Yet another example of how internalized the whole mess is. And poor Joseph and his brothers! That must’ve been one hell of an adventure.

  
Maybe I should ask Sigmun to bring me a book in one of my letters. Interesting as reading the Bible is, it’s also got some very, very dull parts. (And someone son of someone else son of someone else…)

 

 

26 June 1612

  
I was so restless today that I started running laps around the inside of my house. Mother yelled at me for it, but I needed to burn energy. I haven’t been eating much, though, because I don’t feel hungry. I have been sleeping more, though, luckily, so I can sleep the long, dull days away.

 

 

27 June 1612

  
Mother and I got in a fight yesterday because she was drinking and she threw a bottle and it shattered all over the floor. I couldn’t move without stepping on broken glass and I noticed Mother’s feet bleeding.

  
After what might’ve been forever, Mother stormed to her room and I did, too, leaving the glass on the floor. I’m not cleaning up after her ever again.

 

 

28 June 1612

  
His letters seem to be the only thing keeping me sane right now. I’m losing it trapped in the same house as my mother, and it’s only been two weeks. How am I going to manage if she keeps me here much longer? What am I going to do? I asked him if he could bring me a book, because I need to read something that’ll let me escape to another world just for a little while. He said he’ll bring one in a couple days, because he ought to ask Dolora first. I hope he brings a good book; I need to escape.

 

 

29 June 1612

  
I feel sick, physically sick. I don’t mean mind-sick, like before, though I feel mind-sick too. I keep snapping at Mother and forgetting things and losing track of my thoughts. I also feel sick to my stomach and I have a horrible headache and on top of all that, my eyes (of all things) ache. What’s wrong with me?

 

 

30 June 1612

  
He brought me a book today, my favorite book too! I read the whole thing ravenously like it was food and I hadn’t eaten anything in years and I’m probably going to read it over and over until I can’t stand to even look at it. But it’s a book and it’s interesting and I don’t feel quite so crazy anymore.

  
But I still feel trapped. I feel like I’m never going to be able to escape. His letters to me and my letters to him are my only contact with anything outside this miserable house. I feel tense and irritable and I’m glad I write my letters to him because I’m afraid I’d snap at him if I just talked to him. But I want to see him face-to-face, despite the risks. I want to feel his lips pressed so tight against mine again. I want to feel his warmth and see his chocolate-colored eyes. I want to know for sure that he’s real. But I can’t. My ankle wouldn’t survive the drop.

  
What am I going to do?

 


	11. One-Sided Wars And How They Can Be Won

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I must be losing my mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a bit early and a bit short because my SciOly regionals are tomorrow. Much, much thanks to my moirail SlytherinPirate for writing the sonnets and accompanying letters! (And for helpign me come up with insults.)

1 July 1612

I’m frying like an egg in this awful summer heat. I don’t know if I’m actually losing weight or I’m just going heat crazy. For once in my life, I hope it’s the later. Losing any more weight is just so not what I need right now.

Today in his letter, he mentioned that Simonn wanted to say hi, and asked how I was doing. I said in my letter I was fine, even though I’m not, really. I wish I could talk to them. I need to get out of here. I wish I could talk to someone, anyone, besides Mother.

 

2 July 1612

Be careful what you wish for, I suppose. Today, Mother had a man named David Cooper come by to speak with me, and hopefully (for Mother) marry me. I didn’t want to go near him; he was rude and condescending and he was looking at me the way men do, like I’m a toy created just for them to play with. I hate it. Really, the only two men who look at me like I’m a person are Sigmun and Simonn. They’re lucky; I’ve never seen a woman look at a man the way most men look at women, even Mariek.

Anyways, I did my best to be sullen and obnoxious so he’d leave. I made it clear I’m no good at cooking or sewing or laundry or anything else wives are supposed to do. I slouched as well as I could with my bodice on and I made sure to look a mess. Sigmun probably wouldn’t care. He’s seen me on my worst days and I think he wouldn’t mind so much if I was a mess sometimes. At least, I hope not.

 

3 July 1612

I miss the trees. I miss the river. I miss the creek and the barry patches and the clearings and the bridge and books and staying the night at their house and seeing my friends and reading and smiling. I miss all of it. I miss them.

 

4 July 1612

Well, Mother’s furious with me because of that David Cooper man. On the other hand, is she ever not furious with me? I think she’s just determined to get rid of me.

 

5 July 1612

I find myself needing desperately to write more and more often these days, and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m trying to purge all these feelings that have been building since the day Mother locked me in. Maybe I’m trying to burn off energy. Maybe I’m trying to shock myself into something resembling normality. Maybe I’m just plain old losing my mind and this is my symptom of insanity.

Thank goodness I have his letters. Knowing that I still have my friends is the only thing that gets me through these long, painful days.

 

6 July 1612

My head aches and Sigmun was caught by the night watchman. Now he says he’ll leave his letters at a rock we both know halfway between our houses, out of reach of the watchman. So I suppose I won’t be seeing him anymore. My only human contact will be Mother.

I’m going to lose my mind, if I haven’t already.

 

7 July 1612

I intended to sneak out and find his letter today, but Mother was storming around the kitchen and the front room and I didn’t want her to hit me, so I stayed in my room. My bruises from her sting for days. I wish she didn’t slap so hard.

 

8 July 1612

Success! I made it out of the house and found a letter from him and left my letter for him. He’s so romantic! How have I ended up with such a sweet...more-than-a-friend? Right now, I feel so detached that these letters feel like the only proof that there still is an outside world.

 

9 July 1612

Mother burst into my room last night while I was writing and she was drunk as hell and she was screaming about something to do with how I’d betrayed her, I’d done her some horrible wrong. She kept calling me Jennet. She’s done this sort of thing before, thinking I’m someone else and blaming me for everything that person did to wrong her. I don’t mean to take it to heart, but it’s hard when my mother doesn’t recognize me.

 

10 July 1612

I made it outside again and found two letters: one from Sigmun and one from Simonn. Sigmun’s was another sweet, romantic love letter that I put in my jewelry box with the others. Simonn’s was asking how I was and if I needed anything and if I was going to get out soon. I wrote back to both of them telling them I’m doing fine and asking how they’re doing. Except Sigmun’s was more romantic, but then that’s different. Very different. (And I’m certainly not blushing right now. Not at all.)

 

11 July 1612

Sigmun’s birthday is in a few days, on the fourteenth. I’ve already missed Simonn’s (June 18), and now I’m going to miss his, too. Why won’t Mother let me leave? All I want to do is breathe the fresh air and feel the sun on my skin. I want the river soaking my hair and the creek trickling over my feet and the berries staining my clothes. I want pine needles and sap on my hands and green grass beneath my feet. I want the smell of books and the taste of Dolora’s mint tea and most of all, I want to feel happy the way I do only when I’m there.

 

13 August 1612

What a relief! I thought I’d lost my journal for good. I thought Mother had thrown it in the fire! I found it wedged behind my bed. I wonder how that happened? I would’ve kept my journal on paper, but I want to save my paper to write to my friends. I need to know they’re still real. Maybe that sounds crazy, but I feel crazy. I can’t stop moving, but I’m so exhausted that I end up sleeping for almost a whole day sometimes.

Mother is constantly angry with me. She yells all the time and drinks more often than she ever has before. I’m never going to drink the way she does. Besides that I’d like to think heartbreak would drive me to be so cruel to other people, I can see it’s hurting her and I know it’s bad for her. I know that people can drink too much and die, and though I don’t like Mother, I don’t want her to die.

 

14 August 1612

I desperately want to see someone else besides Mother and the few men she’s tried to get me interested in. I suppose she knows I’ll run away if she forces me to get married. I can’t keep myself together. I keep screaming at Mother and my handwriting is shakey. It’s a wonder he can read my letters.

I know what I’ll do. I left a letter today, so he’ll leave one tomorrow. I’ll sneak out of my house and meet him at the rock. I have to see someone, and he’s certainly the best person I could see.

 

15 August 1612

I saw him today! I left my house just after dinner by sneaking past Mother (she was asleep from drinking) and then I headed for the rock and I waited a long time, but he eventually showed up.

“Dianna?”

“Sigmun. It’s me.”

“Are you alright? Did your mother do something?”

“I’m fine. I just had to get out of my house. And...I really wanted to see you. Oh, it sounds so stupid now…”

“If it makes it any better…I sometimes wait around to see if you’ll show up,” he confessed, flushing a red rather like wine.

“Nice to know,” I said, but it was barely a whisper because I was blushing too. I reached for his hand and took it and it felt just like it always has before, and I know it was ridiculous, but I actually felt real and warm and I got that funny feeling all over my skin like pins and needles.

“I think I’m going crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m restless. I can’t stop moving. But I feel like sleeping for hours on end. I’ve been arguing with Mother more than usual, and I can’t believe you can still read my letters with how messy my handwriting is. I don’t know...I feel so detached, like I’m losing my mind…”

“You don’t sound insane. If it helps any.”

“Thanks, but it won’t stop me feeling crazy.”

“Most insane people don’t know they’re insane. Mama calls it cabin fever.”

“What?”

“Like when I was little and I’d stay inside too long and I’d start being really restless like that. She said it was cabin fever. Maybe that’s it.”

“I wish I could do something about it.”

“I could ask Mama.”

“Would you?”

“Sure.” He hugged me tightly and I hugged him back because I miss people so much. Despite a good deal of evidence to the contrary, I rather like people. I think that at heart, people mostly try to do what’s right. I’ve never met a young child who wanted to hurt someone else. The youngest person I ever met who I thought was mean was that one boy when I was six who shoved me. And even then, Mother still loved me back then and she helped me up and took me home.

Anyways, I kissed him on the lips rather quickly because I did have to get home.

“See you soon?” he said, but it was a question more than anything else.

“I’m sorry for missing your and Simonn’s birthdays,” I blurted.

“S’fine. It’s certainly not your fault.”

“Well, tell Simonn happy birthday from me. And happy birthday to you.”

“Thank you.”

I took his other hand in mine and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, squeezing both my hands. “I’ll see you soon.”

“See you.”

And then I left with his letter. I feel much better. I really like being around people, especially my friends, and especially him. I think that walking there and then talking to him and touching him just helped me feel less detached. I don’t like feeling so distanced from my old life. I liked my old life.

 

16 August 1612

Well, my birthday is coming up, and I’ll be seventeen. Just one more year.

It occurs to me that I’ll never have to worry about impressing Dolora. I know most girls have to worry about impressing their husband’s parents, but I’m lucky in that respect. I suspect Dolora would be quite happy if Sigmun and I were married.

Though my desire to talk to someone else was satisfied yesterday, I still everything today, restless and tired and irritable and sick. But in the envelope, I found a spoonful of Dolora’s calming tea  (I don’t remember what’s in it) and a note in her neat cursive: “Brew strong. You can have more if you like.” I made the tea strong, like she advised, and I drank the whole thing in a few gulps even though it was scalding hot. I actually do feel calmer. I fought with Mother, but it wasn’t so bad. I think I might ask Dolora for more, if she doesn’t mind.

 

17 August 1612

My birthday’s coming up. Mother’s going to forget again. Or she might remember and yell at me because I’ve got a year left in her book to find a husband. I have someone who I want to marry! Just because I don’t have a ring, doesn’t mean I don’t love him, and it certainly mean he doesn’t love me! Obviously neither of us can afford to get married and neither of us want to get married so young. I like this not-married, halfway-between state. It’s not bad at all. Though I do want to get married eventually, and I also do want children, I’d rather wait a few years. (Thinking about having children with him is making me blush crimson. I wish I had a tighter hold on that.)

 

18 August 1612

The letter from Simonn today included the new that his brothers are going to a local grammar school. Apparently Isabella is too young for Simonn to talk his parents into letting her go, too. He says he will next year, when she’s six. And Sigmun says that he misses me. He’s so sweet! I miss him, too, and I told him that because I think he’d like to know.

 

19 August 1612

The feeling of detachment was especially bad today. I felt almost disembodied for most of the day. What part I was awake for anyways. I fell asleep for most of the today, and when I was awake, I was restless as all hell. I went to the rock with my letter, but it didn’t help, the way it usually does. I’m still starved for human contact.

 

20 August 1612

For some reason I had some sort of hysterical breakdown today. I was arguing with Mother and she threw a bottle at me and I screamed and a shard of glass cut my arm and I just started sobbing hysterically. I collapsed on the floor and Mother kept shouting and it was so overwhelming and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

Mother left me alone for the rest of the day.

 

21 August 1612

Tomorrow is my birthday. I wonder if he’ll remember. I wonder if my mother will remember. I don’t know if I want her to remember. I certainly want him to, though. I feel like it means he cares.

 

22 August 1612

What a day. Much as I love Sigmun, he doesn’t always think things through.

Mother woke me up by screaming at me that I had a damn year left and if I wanted any dignity, I had better be married by then, and she carried on like that for a long time. I groaned and got out of bed and got dressed and everything, like I do every morning. I don’t really remember most of the day; it was routine and boring.

At about three in the afternoon, someone knocked on the door. Mother answered it, of course, and I supposed it was one of the men she wanted me to meet or maybe the village inspector. So I ignored it until I heard Mother screaming.

“NO, YOU CANNOT SEE HER! GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!”  
  
“I just wanted to--”

“I don’t care what you wanted to do! You’re wretched and horrible and you don’t deserve anything more than rotting in the streets!”  
  
I was seriously confused, so I walked into the living room and Sigmun was standing there with a little cake and another letter, looking rather afraid. I winced and tried to come up with a way to tell him sorry. I remembered when we were little and we came up with a sort of rudimentary language made of hand signals. So I did the sign for night, and then the one for rock. (We came up with all of twenty signs total, and I’m very lucky night and rock were among them.) He must’ve seen, because he said, “I’ll go.”

“You had better! You’re nowhere near good enough for my daughter! You’ll drag me down too! Get out!”

He left with the cake and the letter and I was left with an awful feeling of guilt. I never meant for him to come to my house. It’s such a mess here, with Mother and her drinking and me and my “cabin fever”. I don’t want him to have to see that.

I’ll apologize tonight.

 

23 August 1612

I apologized to him last night and he laughed. “Your mother is absolutely terrifying, but it’s not your fault.”

“You’re lucky you don’t live with her.”

“I am indeed.”

“I can’t wait to be rid of her.”

“Why don’t you run away?”

“I don’t know. I guess I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

“You could live with Mama and I.”

“It’s more complicated than that.”

“How?” He wasn’t trying to be hostile, but it was making me frustrated because I don’t know why I don’t run away.

“I don’t know! I can’t just leave my poor drunk mother for dead, can I? And...And...I just can’t leave, alright?!”

“Alright, alright. Sorry.” He held up his hands in surrender. “I just...I just don’t want her hurt you any more.”

“Believe me, me neither. But I just can’t leave.”

“Alright.” He paused. “So, I have something for you.” He held out this little cake that I bet Dolora made (considering last time we tried baking) with this shy little grin that made me feel all fuzzy inside.

“Thank you.” I took the cake and split it in half and held out half to him. “Here. It’s not fun if you don’t share.”

“Thank you,” he said. We stayed that way for a while, eating the little cake, and then I looked up and I noticed he was rather staring at me.

“Dianna?”

“Hm?”

“Would you mind if I...if I kissed you?”

“Not at all.” He moved closer to me and cupped my face in his hands and I rested my hands on his chest and he kissed me on the lips and it felt amazing, it felt like I was flying and standing in a warm rain and jumping down from a tree, all at once. He tasted like that cake, mint and sugar and a little chocolate, and his hands were so gentle and at the same time there was this intensity, this wanting, that I’ve never really felt before, and I liked it.

After a long, long time, we broke apart, and he rested his forehead against mine and said, “I love you, more than anything else.”

“I love you too.”

He leaned in and kissed me one more time, but quickly. “Will I see you soon?” He looked rather sad.

“I hope so. I’ll try.”

“I will too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And then I left. I already miss him.

 

24 August 1612

My mother yelled at me about Sigmun today. I’m just so tired.

“You little bitch! That awful boy asking for you, he’s a useless, two-faced, lying, maggot-munching bastard!”

“Mother, I--”

“I don’t care what you think, you two-faced whore! He’s a stupid, fluff-for-brains, double-crossing, wine-faced weed!”

“No he’s not! He’s good and kind and he loves me!”

“Don’t try to kid yourself, you stupid girl! He’s using you! He’ll use you up and toss you aside like every single man in this world does! He’ll use your stupid infatuation and never, ever love you back!”

“Yes he will! He does! He loves me more than you ever will!”

“You’re rotten to the core! You’ve never appreciated all I do for you, you selfish girl!”

“You haven’t done anything for me! All you’ve done is get drunk and be the worst mother to ever have a child!”

“Excuse you? You ungrateful brat! I have raised you by hand and all you’ve ever repaid me with is this unthankful rebelliousness of yours!”

“You didn’t raise me at all! You have no idea who actually raised me!”

“Ungrateful wench!”

“Useless drunk!”

“Go to your room! You’re not getting dinner for a week!”

“I don’t care! Starve me then!”

“You can starve for all I care!”

I was just too upset by that point to keep arguing, so I went up to my room to write. Writing really has taken the place of curling up and trying not to cry, and I think it’s probably better for me. I hope it is, at any rate.

 

25 August 1612

I can still taste the cake in my mouth. I can still feel his lips on mine, his hands cupping my face, my hands on his chest. Talking to people is like food for me; I need it, and I don’t have nearly enough. I suppose I’ve been mentally storing up moments when I see someone else to relive bit by bit. I keep replying my moment with him, reliving that kiss over and over until I overthink everything and have to calm myself down.

Mostly I worry that he’s playing with my heart, making me believe he loves me so he can shatter my heart. That would be horribly cruel, and I’d never accuse him of it normally, but I just have a lot of trouble believing he loves me.

But honestly, when he kisses me that way, I can hardly bring myself to doubt.

 

26 August 1612

My heart aches. I don’t just mean that figuratively, though that’s true, too. It’s just that I can actually feel my chest hurting, I can feel my heart telling me that I need to do something. And I do. It’s been horrible in here and I need to get out, somehow. I don’t even care if Mother just lets me run errands or something (though going to the market is not ideal, considering the men there), and I could go to Sigmun and Dolora’s instead, and maybe Sigmun and I could go to the market together and it’d be just so nice...Anyways, it’s easier to imagine warm days with my friends and with him than to face my painful situation here.

Something’s bound to give way before long.

 

27 August 1612

Nothing to report today. I ate, I sewed, I read the book he’s brought me again, I argued with Mother, I knitted, I argued with Mother, I ate, I’m writing, I’m going to go to bed. This whole routine is wearing me down like sandpaper on thin wood.

 

28 August 1612

I traded another book today. Dolora lets him bring one once a week, luckily. At least I’ll have new reading material tomorrow. I need to escape this hell.

 

29 August 1612

I bet this is what hell is like. I can’t endure one more second of it, yet I can’t leave. I can’t risk it.

I better ask Dolora for some salve for these cuts I’ve been getting from Mother’s bottles. 

 

9 October 1612

I can’t believe I lost it again. I must be pretty dumb. Or slightly delusional. This time, it was buried under a pile of old skirts I use for patches. It must’ve fallen out of its usual spot.

I haven’t been able to leave the house to check for letters in a week. A week! And my whole body is crisscrossed with cuts from Mother’s bottles. Dolora’s been sending salve with little notes that thinly veil her concern. I’d be concerned if I was in her place.

I’ve been losing weight since June because Mother eats like a bird and when she runs errands, she buys enough food for about half a person. So I haven’t been eating much, and thus losing weight. I don’t like it. I’m already far from attractive; losing all that weight certainly didn’t help any. He’s not going to love me anymore once he sees me again.

 

10 October 1612

I feel unreal. I feel like everything I’ve ever done, everything that’s made me who I am, is just a strange dream. Maybe it is. Maybe I dreamed up my friends and my love and everyone I’ve ever hoped cared about me. Maybe I’m only just now waking up. Or maybe I’m just now falling asleep.

 

11 October 1612

Neolla’s birthday was today. But she’s off at school by now. Good luck to her.

 

12 October 1612

I found seven letters at the rock today and left my own. Seven letters...he still writes, even when I don’t write back. Here’s one of them:

_Dearest Dianna,_

_I’ve decided to try a new form of writing. Mama says it’s the noblest and most sensitive form of writing, and I must say I agree with her. Of course Simonn doesn’t know about this, because he’d laugh at my newest hobby. I’ve been practising, believe it or not, and I’m still not very good. But I think you’ll like it. At least, I hope so._

No day goes by where I don’t think of you  
The summertime brings a lonely sorrow  
Like the grass is green and the sky is blue,  
My heart is yours to keep, not just borrow.  
As I sit by the tree, there’s a warm breeze  
It reminds me of you in its sharp wake  
My dear, you make me so weak at the knees  
I pray you do love me, for Heaven’s sake.  
The summer garden holds many a rose  
But there’s none quite as beautiful as thee  
You hold all of my heart--Oh, the Lord knows  
You’re calm like the woods, but strong like the sea.  
For to love you each day is my duty,  
You’ll always be my summertime beauty.

_It’s embarrassing how long that took. I guess it takes a long time to put everything I love about such an amazing person into just fourteen lines. I hope you like it._

_All my love,_

_Sigmun_

 

13 October 1612

I think I’m going insane. I really do. I feel disembodied, confused, upset, angry, even lost. Sometimes, I’m not sure anything is real.

I need to see him. I’d like to see all of them, but seeing him is the only practical thing I can do and anyways, I feel more real when I’m near him and that’s just what I need right now.

 

14 October 1612

I’ll sneak out soon, in a few days. I’m going to see him and I’m going to feel alive and sane again. I pray it works because desperately need to feel like I’m in my own body, that I’m still alive, that I’m still real. I’ve been reliving my stolen hours with him from August (all of three evenings total) since and it’s driving me mad.

I have to get out of here.

 

15 October 1612

He wrote me the sweetest letter and if I were to die right now I’d die the happiest girl on Earth.

_Dearest Dianna,_

_If I were to compare you to one thing, I’d have to choose summer. But not just any summer; the perfect days in June full of sun when berries ripen and flowers bloom and the whole world seems alive. The days you love. But even that would be a poor comparison, because you far surpass every summer day ever to dawn._

_I don’t know if you remember it, but one day, when we were twelve, Simonn didn’t come over and you and I decided to go skating on the river. it was January, and it was snowing, and it was freezing cold. You told me I was crazy for going outside, but I was too stubborn to listen. We were skating on the river when you passed by me and grabbed my hands and spun me in a circle and you were laughing like there had never been anything sad in the world. I remember that as the exact moment I realized that I loved you. You were a flower in a desert, a sunbeam in a rainstorm. You’re my summertime beauty and I can’t even imagine letting you go._

_I still wake up with the feeling of summer every morning because you love me. The single most impossible dream I ever had was that I would be allowed to tell you how much I love you. And here it is, my most impossible dream! You are the first flower to bloom in May, the first rain to fall in the middle of a July drought. You are the full moon for which you were named and the shooting star on a cold night. You are the only person I can even imagine loving and the girl I want to spend the rest of my life with. If I could see you every day again, like I used to, I would be the happiest person to ever live. I hope I can see you again soon. I love you._

_All my love,_

_Sigmun_

 

16 October 1612

I snuck out and left my letter for him today. I wish I could still feel that elation I used to have from knowing that he loves me. I wish I could still feel that urge to dance and run and sing. I wish I could make myself be happy.

I wonder how he feels. He wrote that he was happy, joyful even, and for that I am glad. I like knowing he’s happy.

 

17 October 1612

I successfully made it outside today and I met Sigmun at the rock. I had a letter, but I just wanted to see him in person. To make sure he was real, because I’m starting to feel like anything outside my house is just a dream and I needed to know he was real, he was still here, his eyes and his smile and his hair and his hands and his lips.

“Sorry, but can I just…” I said when I saw him.

“Sure?” he answered. I reached up and cupped his cheek with one hand. It was real and warm and it was something outside the four walls of my home. He was…real. There are honestly days when I think I must be going mad and Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and everyone I’ve ever met are just figments of my imagination.

“Sorry…I’m just starting to feel so distant from the world, being inside all the time. You’re just…real. And…still here.”

“Of course I’m still here. Do you expect me to run away when the girl of my dreams, who I haven’t properly seen since August, finally comes around?”

“I don’t know. I don’t want to say I think you’ll find someone else, but…”

“You think I’ll find someone else.”

I nodded and he stepped so he was right in front of me, chest to chest, and he took my hands in his. “There has only ever been you and there will only ever be you. I promise.”

I don’t think he knows how much that meant to me, because I don’t really believe I’m someone worth waiting for. I know he’s worth waiting for; I’ll wait forever for him. But me? I’m not worth waiting for.

“Thank you.”

“What for?”

“For being here.”

“Well, you’re welcome.” And then he leaned down and kissed me and I kissed him back and I could feel every beat of his heart and every movement of his body. I threaded my hands through his hair and it was messy, but also smooth and warm, just like how it looks. His hand slipped up to the back of neck and I could feel his fingers gently stroking the baby hairs there. I felt so completely real for the first time in months and I didn’t want it to end because real isn’t something I feel anymore.

But I broke away because I had to go home before Mother figured out I was gone. “I have to go, Sigmun.”

He looked sad, but nodded. “Alright. Will I see you soon?”

“I’ll try.” I stole one more kiss and said, “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

I turned and walked home, waving until I couldn’t see him anymore.

 

18 October 1612

I wonder if it’s possible to drink until you die. I wonder if someday my mother will drink until she doesn’t wake up anymore. And it’s horrible, but I’m not sure I’d be sad.

 

19 October 1612

I almost hope Father won’t come home. I don’t think I can bear one more visit from Father. Hell, I don’t think I can take one more day stuck in my home. No, it’s not my home. They say home is where the heart is, and my heart is with my friends.

 

20 October 1612

I was sick today and I vomited badly three times. I don’t even know why. I wish I’d had some of Dolora’s tea. I wish I’d been at Sigmun and Dolora’s so I’d at least know someone cares enough to ask me if I was alright or tell me to go home or something.

Here’s a draft of a letter I’m writing to him. It’s not very good, but I’m trying.

_Dearest Sigmun,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health. I hope you’re smiling. I hope you’re happy, because your smile can light up the world as long as you let it._

_I miss you, love. Every time I reach for the books you bring me, I think of you again. I think of your smile, of your eyes, of you reading history books aloud and pointing out all the important parts, of you at the top of the pine tree shouting how you could see the river from there, of you when we were making that cake for Dolora and you were so determined to make it turn out well…I don’t stop thinking about you, love. I think the French sounds better here:_ Tu me manques _._ _You’re missing from me._

 _I think French here sounds better overall._ Je t’aime. Tu m’aime? Tu es très beau _…_ _I must sound ridiculous. Just know that I’d give you the world if you asked for it. I smile when you do; I cry when you do. I love you._

_All my love,_

_Dianna_

 

21 October 1612

He left such a romantic letter yesterday! I don’t deserve these sweet letters, these blissful kisses, these beautiful memories of moments spent with him. I don’t deserve someone so wonderful. But I guess some higher power decided I’m getting more than I deserve. Or something awful is going to happen to me later in my life and this is my happiness. No, that sounds crazy, even to me. I’ll probably just live a slightly off-normal life. It’s not like I’m going to get thrown in prison or start a revolution or something.

Oh, and here’s the letter.

_Dearest Dianna,_

_I’ve been working more on my sonnets, which I certainly hope you like because Mama said they’re very romantic and that you’d like them. Because of this, I wrote another one for you. I’ll do my best to make it different._

There are so many things to love today,  
Although the world may seem a little down.  
Melody rings in my ears when you play,  
Your pretty voice will never bring a frown.  
The green of your eyes, minty candy sweet,  
You may give me a toothache, don’t you know.  
You touch the heart of everyone you meet,  
You are the bright, shining star of the show.  
You never fail to be there for me,  
And I will always try to do the same.  
Just letting you know, you fill me with glee,  
It works, though I don’t know if that’s your aim.  
In the garden there is a pretty rose,  
You will never wilt, my dear, Heaven knows.

_I’m sorry if it sounds rather like the other one. I’m still practising. But I’m trying my best for you and that has to count for something. I send you all my love, Dianna. If there was a way for me to see you more often, I would walk miles and miles around the world to find that way. I would turn the earth upside down for you in a heartbeat. I love and miss you with all my heart._

_All my love,_

_Sigmun_

 

22 October 1612

It’s getting cold inside as well as out. Even the fire Mother never bothers to maintain (that’s my job, as is everything around here) can’t warm my cold house. Or my shivering heart.

 

23 October 1612

Another cut, this one on my shoulder. It almost hit my neck. I’m not sure if Mother would care if she accidentally killed me. She’d probably be glad.

Sometimes, I’m not so sure I would care, either.

 


	12. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Interesting new developments occur and things are going...interestingly.

5 November 1612

I’ve been sick since October. Mother hardly noticed. I had shivers and a headache and I think I was a little feverish. My nose was runny and I slept all the time. I wish I’d been at Dolora and Sigmun’s. Once I was sick for two weeks and I stayed there because Mother was visiting relatives or friends or someone (what horrible timing). I’d rather be there than here any day. I’d rather be sick there than healthy here.

I need to do something.

 

6 November 1612

I haven’t wanted to cry so much in a long time. But in his letter, he said how much he missed me and wanted to see me. And then he said that he was worried about me and I want to cry because he’s worrying about me and it’s probably justified (to be honest), but it means he loves me. He cares about me. I feel like no one does anymore sometimes. I feel so lonely…

 

7 November 1612

I had such an argument with Mother today. She was angry because I told her I wanted to get married to him and I would, no matter what she thought. My head hurts from this mess now and I just want to curl up and sleep for a year. Sleep sounds wonderful right now.

 

8 November 1612

I had four separate nightmares last night. What fun. Why do I bother sleeping when this is all I get?

 

9 November 1612

I’m feeling sick again and I’m afraid I won’t be able to go check for letters. I need those letters; I’ll go crazy otherwise. I wish I could go to their house, if only to breathe in the forest and feel something besides all these roiling, awful feelings I’ve been stuck with. I feel like I’m ready to burst. Maybe I will.

 

10 November 1612

I had a dream about a lovely little island in the middle of a sky-colored lake. It wasn’t an island for living on; rather, it was an island you’d go during the day to spend time where things were nice and lovely. There was a small rowboat you could take there and berries grew there, edible ones; I liked it very much. It was a lovely little dream. I wish I could’ve stayed there for a little while longer.

 

11 November 1612

It’s been more than a year since I started keeping this journal. How quickly time goes by. How much changes in a year.

 

12 November 1612

I vomited twice today. I feel miserable. I can’t stand too much longer like this. I can barely hold my pen.

 

20 November 1612

I was sick for a week and I couldn’t write. I’m feeling a bit better now, though. I nearly fainted trying to get to the rock. But I need to know I’m not crazy. I have to.

 

21 November 1612

His last letter was so sweet. It was so concerned, so worried. It’s nice to know he at least cares about me some.

_Dearest Dianna,_

_I hope I hear from you soon. I’m starting to worry. Are you ill? Are you hurt? Are you alright? Please, write back. Mama’s worried, too. Even Simonn asked if you’re alright._

_I sound so silly. But it’s true._

_There’s not much to report here. Mama put in some more tea (I hope it doesn’t rain). I tried to find some flowers for you, but not many grow this time of year. I found a few, though. I hope you get this before they die._

_Anyways, Richard twisted his ankle. Simonn’s other siblings are fine, and doing well in school. Simonn’s taking Isabella, too, because she kept asking, even though she won’t be six until April. Simonn and Hannah and the others are all doing well. I’m fine, but missing you. I’ve been practising sonnets, too. I think I’ll have one finished by next week. I hope you’ll like it._

_I love you very much, Dianna. Everything reminds me of you. The moon reminds me your eyes. The novels remind me of you and I reading together. The forest reminds me of your laugh, of your smile of days in the woods when the sun shines and you shine even brighter. I hope I can see you soon; I miss you._

_All my love,_

_Sigmun_

 

22 November 1612

Mother and I fought horribly again today. My cheek stings and I think my eye will get that funny sort of bruise around it that happens sometimes. Simonn calls it a black eye. I hope not. I want to see my friends desperately, but I don’t want them to see me like this.

Mother and I fought because I thought I might try to please her by sitting in the living room and knitting some. But she said I was lying to her by pretending I liked to knit. I don’t have any feelings about knitting either way. I was just knitting. I didn’t say anything, either. I’m just so tired of all this fighting. No wonder I’ve been sick.

 

23 November 1612

Today feels important for some reason. It’s not. Well, a handsome man with gorgeous hair and a long, strange-looking coat came to our door and asked for someone named Rose. He was dressed very strangely, but I wasn’t going to comment. It would be rude. Anyways, I don’t know anyone named Rose, so I said to check at the pub in the village. Everyone ends up there at some point (including Mother on some Friday nights. She thinks I don’t know). I wonder who he was?

I tried to leave the house again, but Mother was downstairs and she was awake with a cup of tea and she’d know if I climbed out my window or went downstairs. I wish I could sneak out long enough to wait for him more often. I like knowing that he’s real. I don’t think Dolora even knows about those moments, though. Mother certainly doesn’t.

 

24 November 1612

I didn’t get a chance to sneak out today; Mother spent all day by the door waiting for Father to come home. He should be home soon. I wonder what he’ll be like this time? I usually greet him politely and he gives me some cheap trinket from another country meant for a five-year-old boy that I give to a child in the market. But he was drunk one year. And Mother still…she still tried for her own child. Because clearly I don’t count. But then, she’s never wanted me.

 

25 November 1612

I didn’t get any sleep last night because I had a horrible nightmare I don’t think I can stand to write about. I stayed up with a candle knitting until dawn.

 

26 November 1612

Father came home today. He brought me a toy from Asia and wished me a happy thirteenth birthday. He called me his son again. I can’t help but feel insulted. I couldn’t smell anything on his breath, but I left for my room as soon as I could. My father scares me a little when he’s like that, all tired and hungry and just wanting to use Mother. I have no real love for Mother, but I think she at least deserves his respect and he sure doesn’t give it to her.

I couldn’t sleep until late and sounds were coming from Mother’s room that told me exactly what was happening and I hate it. I absolutely hate it.

 

27 November 1612

I haven’t gotten my bleeding in a long time, months. Dolora said that happens when you lose a lot of weight too fast (or of course if you’re pregnant, but that’s impossible). I guess that’s another reason I’m so sick; I’ve lost so much weight.

I was shaking like a leaf today all day. I feel awful. I need to eat something. I’ll waste away to nothing before long.

 

28 November 1612

I finally just asked Mother if I could go outside. She screamed at me and slapped me right where the other bruise was and it hurt so much I thought I’d start crying. I haven’t cried in front of Mother since I was eight and I don’t plan to change that. Why won’t she let me outside? What’s the point?

 

29 November 1612

I am pretty sure it’s a bad thing to be able to count your own ribs. I’m also pretty sure it’s a bad thing when you can’t quite see out of one eyes because it’s so swollen. I’m in horrible condition. I’m such a mess. I need to get away from Mother. I need to get somewhere I’ll be safe.

 

30 November 1612

Safety seems like a myth these days, something that’s never quite existed and that’s never quite been real. I stayed in my room all day and tried to stay sane despite everything that’s wrong with me right now. I read the book I have for the fifth time and I never thought I’d say it, but I’m sick of it.

 

1 December 1612

December again. Another month of hell to get through. I wanted to go to their house for Christmas, escape my mother’s drunken anger and sadness, but maybe I won’t be able to. I just want to feel sane again. Is that too much to ask?

 

2 December 1612

I petitioned my mother dearest to let me outside again today and she screamed and threatened me with another empty bottle of something. Probably wine or beer. I ducked and kept myself relatively intact. And it was Sunday, so I lit the first candle and let it burn. Sometimes watching a candle burn calms me down, but not this time. It just made me worry more.

 

3 December 1612

I vomited once today when I snuck downstairs late and ate a whole bunch of bread. I guess I ate too much, because I vomited badly and it burned my throat worse than fire. I wish I didn’t feel so sick all the time.

 

4 December 1612

I was so shaky I could hardly get out of bed today. I feel like I’m teetering between life and death. Is death really such a horrible thing? It might be nice to just sleep forever.

No, no, what am I saying? I need to feel the grass beneath my feet one more time, the snow falling and tangling in my eyelashes, Sigmun’s hand in mine, the warmth of actually being happy. I need that. I can’t die now. I have things to live for! Right?

 

5 December 1612

I made it to the rock today, though it took much longer than usual. He left a very kind letter and I did my best to write back, but I don’t want to let on how insane I feel. Or maybe I do. I wish I could tell him how crazy I feel without sounding completely insane. What a contradiction that is.

 

6 December 1612

I had such a headache the whole day today. I almost begged Mother to let me outside, but she was too drunk to care and she was also slumped against the door and I was too weak to climb out a window.

I’m going to die here.

 

7 December 1612

I tried just eating one slice of bread after Mother went to bed and even though i was incredibly nauseous, I managed to keep it in my stomach. That’s good, I suppose. I don’t know anymore.

 

9 December 1612

I was too sick to right yesterday. I mean I was too sick to write yesterday. I must be losing my mind, or at least my ability to spell and do grammar. Is it do grammar, or use grammar? Oh, I don’t know. I just want to get out.

I lit the second candle today. I can’t believe I remembered it was Sunday.

 

10 December 1612

I asked Mother if I could leave the house and she threw another bottle at me and I only barely ducked it. I didn’t make it to the rock today. I don’t think I will for a while.

 

11 December 1612

I’m going to snap if I stay inside one more day. I will. I need to get out.

 

12 December 1612

I feel more alive than ever! Mother finally let me leave the house today and I’m not exaggerating when I say I danced to Sigmun and Dolora’s because I just felt so good today! (I think that strange burst of energy I get sometimes helped me do that, despite how weak I usually feel.) I had to wear my cloak and everything because it’s still cold out and I knocked on the door and I was covered with damp sleet and…the look on Sigmun’s face! It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen, this mix of surprise and joy and something I couldn’t quite pin down.

“Dianna?”

“Unless I’m some sort of ghost!”

His face broke into this huge smile and he laughed and hugged me so tight it almost hurt. He picked me up easily and spun me around off the ground and I laughed so hard it hurt my stomach. I felt my feet brush the ground and I felt his arms resting around my waist and brushing the small of my back while I threw my arms around his neck and he leaned down to kiss me. I swear his lips were even softer than they’d ever been before and his hands on my waist were the most exhilarating things I’d ever felt.

Of course, Dolora chose that moment to call, “Who’s there, little love?” Sigmun blushed a dark red and said, “It’s Dianna, Mama.” He still calls her Mama and I find that very sweet.

“Oh, really? That’s excellent! I’ll make tea.”

“Thanks, Mama.” He smiled and hugged me one more time and I felt like flying. He kissed me on the cheek and we went inside. I can’t hope to describe how amazing it felt to be back at Sigmun and Dolora’s, because that house makes me feel warm and safe and comfortable. Dolora had that motherly smile that makes me feel like someone actually cares about me (because clearly Mother doesn’t) and she hugged me, too, and smiled warmly and said, “It’s so great to see you, Dianna! How’s it been?”

“I’ve been fine, Dolora. What about you?”

“It’s been lovely, dear! Now come and sit down and have some tea and something to eat; you look peaky.”

“Oh, Mother’s been running errands. She has no idea what to buy to make good food. She can cook well, but she sure can’t shop!”

“That’s too bad, Dianna dear! Really, you ought to eat more. You’re getting too skinny.” It’s a strange sort of feeling when Dolora acts like this over me. I can tell she’s worried, but not about me being skinny (which I am because of Mother keeping me inside. I didn’t eat much). She’s worried because my mother just kept me inside for six months.

“Hey…d’you want to read a book?” Sigmun asked with that earnest sort of smile he has when he’s nervous.

“Of course I do.”

“You choose.”

“You sure?”

“Of course.”

I wandered for a little, then I picked a romance novel. “What about this one?”

“Sounds good to me.”

So we sat on the couch and took turns reading the book out loud to each other, like we always do. We were about a chapter in when he suddenly stopped talking. “What is it, Sigmun?” I asked.

“I…I thought I’d never see you again.”

“What d’you mean? I’m fine.”

“Well…you were gone for so long I thought you’d never get out and I’d lose you and I wouldn’t be able to bear that.”

“I’d always find a way out. I’d always find my way back to you.”

He smiled gently and said, “And me to you.” I kissed his nose and he smiled again. I know when we get old, he’ll have laugh line around his eyes.

Dolora made us lunch, and she made me eat the whole bowl of stew because she’s right, I haven’t been eating enough. And that felt good too, because I am really hungry and proper food felt so good when I’ve been lacking it for so long.

In the afternoon, I suggested going outside because I just want to be outside every moment I can. Sigmun suggested walking around the woods and I thought that sounded wonderful because I love the forest, and honestly I missed it.

We went to the clearing and sat on that log and I sat on his lap and wrapped myself in his cloak because it was so warm. I could feel his hands resting around my waist, just brushing my hips a little, enough to make me blush. I reached one of my hands up to stroke his cheek and I said, “I love you, you know.”

“I know.” He kissed me on the forehead and I felt tension melt away just from the gentle touch. “I love you, too.”

“I know.” I rested my head on his chest along with one of my hands and I could hear his heart fluttering a bit like he was nervous. “Are you nervous?”

“I…a little.” I could tell he was blushing.

“Why?”

“Because…because…this is the first time I’ve spent time with you when there’s not a time limit or something and we’re really close and I just…I…”

“It’s okay, Sigmun. I don’t care.”

“Oh. Uh…great.” I could feel him shifting and then I felt his fingers link around my waist and draw me closer so I was pressed right up against him. I nuzzled at his neck because it felt so natural and then (I don’t know why) I kissed him there, right on the side of his neck. I mean a proper kiss, too. His grip on me tightened, just a touch, and I could feel his face heating up. I tilted my head back and he was, in fact, a brilliant shade of crimson. But he could speak. “Mind if I try?”

I shook my head and he carefully leaned his head down and pressed a long, long kiss on my neck that was hard and sweet at the same time. I felt butterflies in my stomach and when he broke away, I leaned up to kiss him on the lips. It was the longest kiss we’ve ever shared and I never wanted it to end. I mean, it wasn’t just a kiss; we were kissing each other’s necks and faces and I could feel his hands creep below the small of my back and I didn’t care. I heard him making these little sounds I’d never really heard before and then I realized I was making those sorts of sounds, too, little grunts and groans of a sort that made me blush. I didn’t want to stop (and I could tell he didn’t!), but eventually breathing became something we both had to do and we slowly drifted apart. I rested my forehead against his and intertwined my fingers with his and I would’ve been happy to stay that way forever.

“I love you.” He barely whispered it, but I heard it.

“I love you too.”

It was getting dark and I had to go home. “Bye, Sigmun.”

“See you, Dianna.”

I could just about die right now. 

 

13 December 1612

Simonn came over today, too! He saw me kiss Sigmun when I greeted him and I could’ve sworn I heard him mutter, “Finally,” under his breath. Dolora nodded sagely and I suppose she always knew. She’s that sort of person.

I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of kissing Sigmun. I’m sure there are people who tire of kissing the one they love, but I don’t think I ever will. I’m sure it’s another horrible thing to like that Mother would tell be me to be ashamed of, but I don’t care what she thinks anymore. If I want to kiss Sigmun, if I want to spend all my time in the woods, if I want to get an education, if I want to stay home and do needlepoint all day, I think it should be my choice. Why should anyone else choose for me? Honestly.

I don’t really know how to explain how I feel right now except that I feel alive. I feel like I could climb a mountain, swim across an ocean, travel through the entire forest. I could just go up to Sigmun and kiss him on the lips, tell Mother exactly how I feel about what she tells me, scream to the world everything that’s wrong. I feel like I could do anything.

 

14 December 1612

The cold air feels like some sort of invigorating drink, making me feel full of energy again. And I ran errands today, so I bought enough food that I won’t be hungry. I don’t like being hungry. I’ve been so happy these past couple days that I nearly forgot how skinny and how sick I’ve been. I’m considering asking Dolora if I can stay with them for a few days in case I’m actually sick. I feel a bit better, but I can’t eat so much besides broth and bread and sometimes stew. And I can see Dolora worrying about me, hear it in her voice. I’m worried about me. Now that I’m certain I have my sanity back, I realize that my body is in worse shape than I thought.

I need to do something about that.

 

15 December 1612

Ironically, today when I came over, Sigmun said Dolora had asked him to tell me that I ought to stay over a few days because she’s apparently very worried about the fact that I can count my ribs and that all my clothes hang too loose on me. It is somewhat worrisome.

So I suppose I’ll be staying over tonight and maybe a couple more nights after that. I’m at home, picking up my clothes so I can alter them while I’m there, and my journal, clearly. I think I’ll leave the extra fabric in my clothes because hopefully I can gain back some of the weight I lost. I’ll look nicer that way. And hopefully I won’t feel nauseous after I eat.

 

16 December 1612

I’ve never been so grateful for Dolora’s care. She told me I had to eat more, but slowly, because my body had started confusing food and things that hurt you, like poison. She said I better stay at their house until I can walk around without feeling like I’m going to faint. That’s probably a good idea, to be completely honest. Anyways, I could do with resting somewhere I don’t have to worry for my safety. Now that the excitement of being outside has mostly worn off, I can tell how sick I am.

It was Sunday, so I lit the third candle at Dolora’s house. This time, it was calming to see the little flame slowly burning the wax away.

 

17 December 1612

Simonn brought his siblings over for a couple minutes after school today and Isabella looked at me all funny and said, “Are you sick?”

“I suppose I’m a little sick.”

“You’re all skinny and pale like sick people.”

“I’m fine, though, Isabella. I promise.”

“Alright,” she shrugged. I guess she would rather play than talk about being sick.

There are people who are just that skinny like I am now (I’ve already gained back a little weight), but I’m just not like that. I mean, Simonn’s tall and thin as a beanpole, and he’s perfectly fine. I’m just not built that way and I know it. I still haven’t gotten my bleeding.

Dolora said it was a bad idea to leave the house today, very sternly. I think she’s worried I’ll faint if I walk too much. On the other hand, now that I’m not constantly hungry, I realize that I have a bit of a fever. I’m a little scared, to be completely honest. But Dolora’s a good doctor and I’m sure I’ll be fine

I hope so, anyways.

 

18 December 1612

Sigmun woke me up this morning because I just kept sleeping. I think that’s what you’re supposed to do when you’re sick.

“Dianna. Dianna.”

“Mmph.”

“Dianna, wake up. C’mon.”

“I’m sick, though.”

“Oh, good.”

“What about that is good?”

“I was just...I was worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a little fever. I’ll be fine.” I started to get up, but he stopped me.

“Nope, you stay right here. I’m going to get you some soup and a good book.”

“Sigmun…”

“You’re sick. It’s fine. I do this all the time with Mama.” When people get sick at night, Sigmun comes with Dolora to help.

Anyways, he did bring me a bowl of soup and my favorite book. And he sat with me on the couch and we read the book together, like usual. Simonn didn’t come; he must’ve been busy. He didn’t seem to mind that I had to stop reading for a little while after I finished eating because I felt so sick. He just put the book down while I leaned against him and brought my knees up to my chin to quell the nausea. He’s very sweet to me. I don’t deserve it, but I also like it. What’s wrong with me?

 

19 December 1612

Sigmun is so sweet. Today was my last day here, except Sigmun asked me to please stay one more day in case I got sick again. He said he was worried. But I really did have to go home and deal with my mother.

While I was there, Sigmun was all sweet and kind, making me soup and tea and saying that I should just stay on the couch and he’d take care of things.

“I’m not incompetent, Siggy.”

“But you’re sick, so you should rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You have a fever.”

“It’s mostly gone.”

“Mostly. Not all the way. I don’t know a lot medicine, but I know you should rest.”

“Fine, fine. I’m still going home tonight.”

“But I’ll be all lonely,” he teased.

“And I won’t be?”

“Fair point.”

“You’re so silly.”

He grinned that goofy grin of his and sat down on the couch next to me. I’ve never been so glad I have him.

When I got home, Mother was angry and drunk, as usual. I ducked all three bottles she threw and I only have a couple cuts from the glass shards.

I’m so tired. But I just have until August. Eight months. I just have to hold out for eight more months.

 

20 December 1612

I felt good enough to walk to Dolora and Sigmun’s and back today. Mother was angry and she yelled at me a good deal.

“This is why you can’t leave the house! You’re so headstrong you’ll live on the streets for days!”

“Mother, I was sick! I was at a doctor’s house!”

“You little whore!”

“A doctor, Mother! Because you kept me inside so long I got sick! I had a fever!”

“You rotten liar! You’re rotten to the core! You disobedient, useless, horrible child!”

“Leave me alone!”

“You need to fix yourself!”

“No I don’t!”

“Yes you do!”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!” I marched up to my room and slammed the door and I’m just so sick of this. Just eight more months to get through.

 

21 December 1612

Simonn and Sigmun and I read a book on Prussian history today. It’s funny how easily everything falls back into place after such a mess.

 

22 December 1612

There are times when I want nothing more than to run away. I hope and pray no one ever reads this because I know it’s horrible, but sometimes I plan it out in my head how I’d manage it. I’m sure Dolora would let me stay with her for a while, until I could find a job and maybe get my own house, or when I’m eighteen and Mother goes to live with Father again. Then I can live there until or ever after I get married. I can work at a seamstress’s and I can walk around with Sigmun and Simonn to help avoid Mother. I’m sure it would work out.

But I can’t. I know it’s wrong, and I know it’s crazy, and I know it would never work, but I want to.

Maybe I’m still a little bit crazy.

 

23 December 1612

Simonn said his father finally stopped fighting about his siblings going to school, despite his usual “They’re all going to work in the fields and get their hands dirty for once in their lives” spiel, which is rather stereotypical. That’s good, because it’s hard enough having Isabella in school because no one thinks she’ll do well (though she is).

 

24 December 1612

I am not dreading Christmas this year. I’m not even dreading what Mother would do when she finds out I’ve left. No, if she finds out I’ve left. I’ll be back to help her get over being sick from being drunk after Christmas. For a little bit, anyways.

 

25 December 1612

I do not regret a thing about leaving my mother to her own devices on Christmas.

When I woke up, I put on my nice dress and brushed out my hair and also put on my good shoes. found my Sunday cloak and donned it over my dress and left a note on the table telling Mother I was out for the day and turkey was in the cabinet. I walked the mile or more to Sigmun and Dolora’s house and when I got there, it was so warm inside, even not compared to the cold, snowy December weather outside. Dolora was all smiles and kind words and I was actually happy, for once, to be celebrating Christmas. They had four candles, too, but they were colorful candles (not like mine). Mother thinks the three purple and one pink candles are frivolous and gets wax-colored ones. Dolora’s are purple and pink, with one very pretty on in the center.

Oh, and Dolora got a letter and it turns out that friend can’t come this year, but she promised to visit in January. I’d love to meet Dolora’s friend. I think her name is Rosalie or Rose or something similar. It’s not a common name, but then, none of our names are common.

Anyways, I helped Dolora and Sigmun cook, even though I was wearing my nice dress, and it was strange because I’ve never cooked with anyone like that. Dolora was smiling so much I thought she’d start glowing. There was a lovely happiness in the way Dolora pretended to scold Sigmun for eating some of the Yorkshire pudding batter (we made her version, with all the butter and drippings) and the way Sigmun grinned at everything and the smile Dolora had when she greeted me by hugging me tightly and saying, “Happy Christmas, Dianna dear.” I’ve never felt so welcome or even wanted anywhere. It was a lovely Christmas, and a nice meal, and we exchanged little presents, and now I have a warm scarf for the winter and a collection of beautiful hair ribbons. I feel so light. I feel like I could fly. I feel wonderful. Mother locked herself in her room, too, so for once, I’ve had a wonderful day from start to end. And I ate a good deal and though I feel a little sick, I don’t think I’m going to vomit and I’m gaining back some weight.

I feel good. How unexpected.

 

26 December 1612

Mother was horribly ill again today, but I figured she could take care of herself and left because I can’t stand to be inside anymore. Anyways, I don’t owe her anything. I don’t owe my mother anything for the slaps and the bottles and the drinking and the yelling.

Maybe I feel just a little bit guilty,

 

27 December 1612

I felt so sick today and I hope the fever isn’t coming back. It might just be because Mother threw another bottle at me and it hit me and broke. Now there’s these awful cuts all up and down my arms and legs because I fell over after that and then Mother threw a few more bottles. The worst ones are the two in my side that I should probably stitch up. At least the bleeding stopped.

 

28 December 1612

Dolora asked me what had happened when I came over so I told her and she did the stitches for the cuts in my side and said something about how she was worried about me, and I could stay with her and Sigmun for a while if I wanted to. I told her it was fine, I was fine, it was okay. I wish I could stay there, but I have to deal with my mother and I just can’t leave. I don’t even know why. I just…I can’t.

 

29 December 1612

It’s almost New Year’s. I want a new year so badly right now. I want a whole new start sometimes, from the beginning of my life. Maybe I could figure out some way that Mother could love me. Maybe I would still have Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and Hannah and Neolla and Mariek and my other friends. Maybe I’d be happy.

 

30 December 1612

We practiced math today, algebra specifically. It wasn’t so bad at all.

I wonder how I did with my resolutions last year. I said I’d learn to sew better, and I did. And I kept my journal mostly. I wrote a poem, and spent Christmas with Sigmun and Dolora. And I’ve told Sigmun I love him. And I did tell Mother I don’t want to get married yet, even though she didn’t listen. So I guess I didn’t do so horribly.

 

31 December 1612

I better make a new list for this year. We studied Russian today and I quite liked it.  
1\. Keep up my journal  
2\. Get out  
3\. Remember everyone’s birthdays  
4\. Get to be a better writer  
5\. Learn to speak Russian and at least one other language fluently  
6\. Make Mother understand I don’t want to get married

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this! Please leave a comment and maybe a kudos!


	13. The City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery and panic and a visit to the city. 
> 
> I suck at writing summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there is some violence and a near-death experience in this chapter. 
> 
> Also people making out.

1 January 1613

Happy new year, I suppose. It hasn’t been especially happy so far. It’s just been the usual: get ready in the morning, go to Sigmun and Dolora’s for most of the day, come home and deal with Mother, eat dinner, sew or knit or whatever I have to do to keep my clothes and things in good condition, write, go to bed. I don’t lead an interesting life, and I doubt I ever will. Except the fact that I’m not exactly of average reading and writing ability, but that’s rather a side note, figuratively speaking. 

Anyways, we went skating today. It was quite nice. 

 

2 January 1613

We leave for the city in just two weeks! It’ll be wonderful to get away from my mother, even for a few days. I just want to get away from her, so I can breathe again. I can never really breathe these days. I feel like some huge weight is pressing on my chest when I wake up, as if breathing is some great burden I must carry. 

I wish I could leave now. I wish I could leave and never return. I know it’s wrong, but I want to leave. 

We studied physics today, much to Simonn’s joy. He’s always happy about science. It’s quite sweet. 

 

3 January 1613

My head was pounding today, so my friends said we could rest inside for the day. I think it’s the last remnants of my illness. At least the fever hasn’t come back. That’s certainly nice. 

I wonder sometimes how Simonn plans to keep Isabella healthy. She never had cowpox, even though all Simonn’s siblings and Sigmun and Simonn and I did. You don’t usually get smallpox if you’ve gotten cowpox, so Isabella’s vulnerable to smallpox, unlike the rest of us. I’m so glad I had cowpox when I was little. But not everyone gets smallpox anyways, so I think more likely than not she’ll be fine. 

I certainly hope so. 

 

4 January 1613

Dolora took out the stitches from those cuts today because she said she can’t leave them in too long. I saw that she was very concerned, and I guess that’s somewhat justified. I know most parents sometimes hit their children, but I’m pretty sure most parents never throw bottles at their children. I’m never going to hit my children. I’m going to make sure they grow up feeling loved. I’m not going to be like my mother. I swear it. 

Anyways, we read about medical science today and Dolora seemed to be listening when she was home. I know she likes medicine and I think she’d have a degree to be a doctor if she could get one. Why won’t universities let women study and work there? I mean, Neolla’s just as clever as the current town lawyer. Dolora’s and excellent doctor. Mariek regularly plans theoretical raids that would probably actually work. If I ever meet someone who works at a university, I’ll ask them why. 

 

5 January 1613

I finally got my bleeding! I never thought I’d be happy about it. But this means I’ve gained back enough weight to be healthy, sort of. I just don’t want to be sick anymore; is that really too much to ask for? 

Mother was sick from drinking today and I feel awful because she was crying. I know it’s insane to feel bad for my mother, of all people, but she was crying and heartbroken and she didn’t even notice me. I don’t know what to think anymore. 

 

6 January 1613

I had such a strange dream last night, and I don’t even remember it. I just know it was strange and scary. 

We studied French today, and I think it’s still one of my favorite languages. 

 

7 January 1613

I dreamed about the two girls last night, who I should know but I don’t. After a long time trying to speak to me, the older girl finally hugged me again and for some reason, I heard the word “mother”. I don’t know what that’s about. If the two girls are my children, why do they look so little like my love? I certainly hope I marry him, and I would like to have children, and I think (if my knowledge is correct) children tend to have traits from both of their parents. So they probably aren’t my children. This continues to plague my waking hours sometimes because who on Earth is in my dreams? My dreams are in my head. Who else is in my head?

 

8 January 1613

My mother dearest made me stay home for a while today to speak with a man called Andrew, I think. I don’t quite remember because this time I tried to be polite, but as soon as Mother left the room, he tried to kiss me, even though I was pushing him away. And he wouldn’t stop, so I slapped him so he’d just get off me. Mother was horribly mad. She said I attacked him, and it was my fault anyways. I was just trying to get him off me! I didn’t want him kissing me. I think I should be able to chose who kisses me! 

Anyways, I escaped around noon and got to Sigmun and Dolora’s to study a novel for the afternoon. It was quite nice. 

 

9 January 1613

I saw my friends in the village today and we sat around the park and talked about things.

“So did you finally kiss him?”

“Mariek!”

“So you did! I told you so…”

“Alright, alright. You all were right, I was wrong. Happy?”

“Very.” Mariek grinned and poked me. “Your handsome lover must be very glad.”

“Shut up.”

“Oh, come on. He’s got a lovely girl.”

“Thanks.” I stopped for a second. “How come you always say things like that?”

“Like what?”

“That I’m pretty.”

“Because you are. And that’s what friends do, isn’t it? Compliment each other.”

“No, I mean, what’s wrong with saying clever, or funny, or brave, or…I don’t know?”

“Well, I think you guys are all those things, too. But other people value being pretty over being anything else. So, I figure I’ll tell you that of the things you are, you’re something other people will like, too.”

“Geez, could you be any more mushy?” Neolla added.

“I think Dianna’s the mushiest of us all.”

“Excuse me!”

“Dianna…no offense or anything, but you read romance books and quote from them. All the time.”

“I do not!”

Neolla gave me a look full of disbelief. “Yeah. And last time I saw you, you didn’t at all mention that new book called Adrift that’s about such a nice boy—”

“Stop it, will you?!”

“Alright, alright,” Neolla grinned. I swear, Neolla and Mariek have the same mind sometimes.

“Hey, um…Dianna? Neolla? Mariek?” Hannah asked.

“Yeah?” I said.

“Can you teach me how to write?”

“Sure…” I said. “Why?”

“I want to write a letter to Dorothy.”

“Hannah…she’s in Austria,” Neolla said gently.

“I know. But….I need to know if she’s okay. And she…she wants to hear from us. I know it.”

“How?” Neolla asked. “I’m not exactly telepathic with my siblings.”

“I just do,” Hannah said. She looked about thirteen, vulnerable and small. “Please?”

“Yeah, sure,” I said. “When can I meet you?”

“Uh…I don’t know. I have…I have a lot of things to do…” she mumbled. I think Hannah keeps secrets from us. I don’t want to bother her about it, but I’m a little curious. I mean, I know she has problems with her father, and her mother died giving birth to Alice six years ago, but I think there’s something she’s not telling us.

“Well, I’m usually at Sigmun and Dolora’s during the day,” I said. I had the idea that I could kill two birds with one stone and persuade Simonn to spend more time with Hannah and also help Hannah write her letter. “Come over any time.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said, playing with the ends of her hair. She does that a lot, like Neolla chews her lower lip and I push my hair behind my ears repeatedly, even if it’s not in my face. (I’ve never seen Mariek nervous, so I don’t know what she does.)

So I guess I’ll be seeing Hannah more often. That’s good. 

 

10 January 1613

We leave for the city in six days. Six days! And then I get a whole week when I’ll be free from my mother. A week! That sounds wonderful. 

We practiced calligraphy today and I’m decent at it, I suppose. I like calligraphy; it’s fun. 

 

11 January 1613

Today was a usual day. We studied Austrian history. That’s it. 

 

12 January 1613

Today it was snowing, so we went to the river and skating around and I loved the cold air. I like being cold now because it makes me feel real like I didn’t when I was trapped inside. I like feeling real. 

 

13 January 1613

We studied some grammar today and I’ve decided English is at once my favorite and my least favorite language. At least Italian doesn’t have irregulars. 

 

14 January 1613

We read some of the novel today. I liked the part where the hero decided he wouldn’t kill anyone. I think killing is just a bad thing to do. 

Two days. I’m counting the minutes!

 

15 January 1613

Tomorrow. I leave tomorrow and then I’m free from my mother for seven days! I’m determined to make the most of those days because dammit, I’m going to the city and I’m not going to let Mother of all people ruin it for me!

We didn’t study today because we all knew it would be useless, so I sprawled on the couch and Sigmun lied on the floor and stared up at the ceiling and Simonn leaning against a bookshelf and we all just sat there and talked some. 

 

16 January 1613

We left for the city today! I told Mother that the seamstress I work for was sending me to the city for a week to pick up some fabric. She was asleep from drinking when I left anyways, so I left with my pack and left a note behind before she woke up.

We started out around eight, then stopped for lunch at noon, and arrived in the city at six. Dolora’s Aunt Matilda said we should all call her Aunt Matilda and she seemed a little bit...old. She asked Dolora what her last name was and she seemed to not remember a lot of things. I know some people don’t remember things so well when they’re older and I guess that’s what happened to Aunt Matilda.

Aunt Matilda’s house had only a few rooms and only two bedrooms. She doesn’t have a couch to sleep on, either, so Dolora’s sharing with her aunt and I’m stuck sharing with Sigmun and Simonn again. Which isn’t too bad, because obviously they’re my best friends and I trust them, but Simonn wouldn’t stop pestering Sigmun and I and there’re only two beds, so Simonn has taken it upon himself to take up the smaller bed such that no one can share with him and Sigmun and I have no choice but to share. I could sleep on the floor, but it’s a very hard floor and there aren’t enough blankets. So I guess I’ll have to share with Sigmun tonight.

I ought to find something to bother Simonn about tomorrow.

 

17 January 1613

It wasn’t such a bad night, only I fell asleep holding his hand and when I woke up, his side was pressed against mine. Simonn saw, of course, and he laughed like a witch and I made him swear not to tell anybody. I’m just very embarrassed because you’re not supposed to spend time with a man that way until you’re married. I don’t want to get married so young, partly because Mother wants me to, but also because I want to be sure about him before we’re married.

Anyways, Dolora told us that we should stay away from the bad sections of the city and told us where they were, to be very careful if offered anything to eat or drink, never put our food down out of sight, and keep our lunch money hidden at all times. And we had to be back by six for dinner every night and be double-sure to keep warm. Then she told us we could go, and of course the first place we went was the library.

The library was huge, and of course it was full of books. Strictly speaking, only university people are supposed to be there, but no one questioned us, so we didn’t leave. I have a feeling Dolora didn’t really mind.

We explored the entire library, from this huge, tancy atrium to these tiny little back rooms with little light and old desks just for looking at old, old books. Simonn found a section all on physics and Sigmun found one on French history (his favorite) and I found one full of books just for learning languages, and this section full of novels and poetry. We all read some in the morning, but mostly we explored. We bought lunch in the market, which is to say we went to a stand where a man was selling bread and a stand where a man was selling cooked meat and had meat and bread.

I wish I could draw; I’d draw a picture of the library and all the books. The atrium was three stories tall with a stained-glass window at one end and a painted ceiling with the Greek gods on it. There was this sort of carpeting in the middle that softened footsteps, and tile floors and walls on the sides that made every footstep a million times louder. The hallways were quiet and made of stone and full of books only, except for a few university students and a few old professors, one of whom called Simonn Brian and asked where that copy of A History of Greece was. (Simonn panicked and now I have my small revenge.)

We ate dinner with Aunt Matilda and she’s a very good cook. Dolora said we’re going to have dinner with her friends tomorrow and maybe one more time before we leave. I wonder what that’ll be like.

 

18 January 1613

Dolora said today that we were all going to her friend Rebecca’s house for dinner, and that all her old friends would be there. She told us they were named Rebecca (obviously), Sybil, Maggie,  
Miriam, and Rosalie. She stuttered a bit on Rosalie’s name and I wondered what that was all about because Dolora’s never seemed nervous since I’ve known her. So us three went to see a play (and then stayed for a second one) and then went to Aunt Matilda’s house and Dolora told us all to put on our cloaks, she was still getting ready, and then she took a very long time getting ready. I think she did her hair and she put on a nice dress and everything.

“Come on, we’ll be late.”

“We’re coming, Dolora.”

She tapped her foot impatiently. “We’re leaving. Rebecca’s house isn’t far away.”

We walked about half a mile to her house, where everyone was waiting. “Dolora!” Rebecca called, throwing her arms around her. “It’s so lovely to see you. Are these your…children?”

“Hello, Rebecca. Well, this is Sigmun, my son, and his two friends, Dianna and Simonn. But…” Dolora shook her head. “It’s not important. Where’s Rosalie?”

“Of course you’d ask about Rosalie,” another woman said cheekily. “She’s coming.”

“How nice,” Dolora said, forcing a smile. “Haven’t seen her in years.”

“I bet she misses you,” yet another woman added, grinning like Simonn used to.

Dolora rolled her eyes. “I haven’t introduced you all. Sigmun, Dianna, Simonn, this is Rebecca” (the first woman to speak) “Sybil,” (the second to speak) “Maggie,” (the third to speak) “and Miriam” (a tall woman with dark hair and eyes.) “All of you, this is Sigmun, my son, and Dianna, my…niece, and Simonn, my nephew.”

“You didn’t have siblings,” Miriam pointed out. “Did your husband?”

“I never married.”

“But…” Maggie tilted her head towards Sigmun.

“It’s a long story,” Dolora sighed. “What about you all?”

They started exchanging stories while Sigmun and Simonn and I sat on the couch and felt awkward. I’ve never visited relatives before and I suppose this is what it’s like. Sigmun once left town for three days to visit Aunt Matilda, but Simonn never has and I certainly haven’t, so we all just sat stiffly and Sigmun held my hand and Simonn clenched his.

Eventually, someone knocked on the door. “That’ll be Rosalie,” Rebecca said. “You know, she never married.”

“How nice,” Dolora said stiffly.

Rebecca answered the door and Rosalie walked in all confident and smiling this sort of mischievous smile that made me think she’s slipped a spider into every book in the house. (Rebecca had some books, but not as many as Dolora has. On the other hand, Dolora has the most books of anyone I’ve ever met outside a library.) “Dolora!” Rosalie bent down to be as tall as Dolora (because Dolora was sitting down) and kissed her, right on the lips. Sigmun flushed crimson and Simonn turned to us, as if he was asking, “Did you know about this?!”

“Sorry to ask, but…” Rosalie gestured towards us three.

“Right. This is Sigmun, my son, and Dianna and Simonn, my niece and nephew. Sigmun, Dianna, Simonn, this is Rosalie, my…”

“Friend,” Rosalie filled in. “Good friend…” Rosalie smiled warmly and said, “Nice to meet you all.” She turned back to Dolora. “Son?”

“I never married, either...It’s a long story.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You always have.”

Rosalie grinned that catlike grin again. “I have. Anyways, it’s lovely to see you again, ‘Lora.”

“Lora?” Simonn whispered to me. Sigmun was still colored scarlet.

The adults turned to us and I felt so uncomfortable that I wanted to melt. I knew they were Dolora’s friends, but they were also complete strangers. “So, what do you three want to do when you’re done with your education?”

“Work at a university,” Simonn said quietly. “As a physicist.” That’s been his ambition for as long as I can remember.

“I want to be a historian,” Sigmun said. “Or maybe public speaking.”

“And you?” Miriam asked me.

“I want to work in translating books,” I blurted. I’ve only ever told Sigmun and Simonn that before. “But I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?” Rosalie challenged.

“Because...my mother,” I said, rather reluctantly. I turned to Sigmun. “When you were..nine, was it? You wanted to be an adventurer.”

He blushed even darker and said, “I was just a kid.”

“So was I, and I wanted to work at a university,” Simonn pointed out.

“When I was your age, I wanted to work at a library,” Sybil said, a bit wistfully. “Never did, in the end.”

“‘Lora always wanted to be a doctor,” Rosalie said.

“I am a doctor, thank you very much,” Dolora said. “You wanted to be in politics, correct?”

“And I am. I’ve joined an underground revolutionary organization. It’s quite interesting. And I work for a seamstress.”

“You’re all lucky,” Rebecca said. “I can’t get a job. My husband works as a barber.”

“My husband is a lawyer,” Sybil said, rather boastingly I think. “But I assist.”

“So you all married?” Dolora asked.

“Except you and Rosalie,” Miriam said. “What about you three?”

“I--uh--we…” Sigmun stammered, while I blushed scarlet and Simonn looked at his shoes very pointedly.

“I see,” Rebecca said with that tone of needling someone like she’d done earlier. “Well--” Dolora gave her a stern glare and Rebecca nodded and left us alone, which was a relief. I’ve never visited relatives (relatives I suppose I have), and I guess this was what it’d be like. I’m not so sure I liked it. 

But the dinner was good and it wasn’t so bad after that. Sigmun was red for the rest of the night, though. I guess that’s understandable considering Rosalie. I’d just die if my friends ever met my parents together. 

 

19 January 1613

Last night, I slept with my head on his chest and his arms around me. I feel a little guilty about it, because it felt very intimate, but I also don’t think it’s wrong because I had no dreams, bad or good, and I slept so well like I haven’t since I was little. Sleeping well can’t be wrong. I wish I could sleep with him this way every night (I wish that couldn’t so easily be taken the wrong way) because I felt safe and I felt loved. I don’t feel loved so often and I stored up the feeling in the back of my mind to examine later.

We explored the market today and Sigmun held my hand and his grip was warm and soft and rather exciting. My heart was a little too fast and my knees a little too shaky, but I didn’t mind.

The market was huge. There were stands for everything: meat, bread, fruit, vegetables, ice, clothes, cloth, jewelry...I could go on. We spent some of our lunch money on a fancy pastry and split it between us and it was delicious. We had meat and bread for lunch again, too, and in the afternoon we searched for the famous square in the middle of the city.

We found it, eventually, and it was such a lovely square. There was a huge stone fountain in the center that was glorifying the kind. I giggled because it looked rather silly and said, “He looks ridiculous.”

When I said that, a guard who I guess had been behind me whispered, “Be careful what you say, missy.” I wheeled around and the man had left.

“What the hell?” Simonn blurted.

“I guess we better be careful what we say,” Sigmun said, sounding spooked.

Anyways, the square was lovely, even with the trees all bare and blank and the grass all brown (there wasn’t any snow). Then we explored the artisan’s part of the market until dinner.

After dinner, we read a book that Sigmun brought from home and it was a good book, so it was nice.

 

20 January 1613

Today we snuck into the university, not just the library. It was quite an operation, because I had to borrow some of Sigmun’s clothes and tuck my hair up into a hat and everything. Simonn and Sigmun looked like they could belong, and we supposed I could be a younger brother or something. But Simonn strode right on in, looking confident and like he belonged, and no one questioned him. So the three of us explored the whole university, top to bottom, and we only got questioned once. 

“Who’re you three?”

“I’m Brian Green. This is my brother Peter and my other brother Vincent.”

“Do you go to school here?”

“Yes. It’s my third year. It’s Peter’s first. Vincent is going to come here in a few years. It’s a family tradition.”

“Really.” 

“Of course, sir.”

“I’ve never heard of the Green family.”

“Then surely you aren’t in the highest social circles.”

The man looked flustered, nodded, and walked off. 

I wish I could go to university. It seemed incredibly interesting and everyone looked all busy doing interesting things, going to classes or looking things up in the library or writing important letters. I’d love to go to a university. It would be amazing. 

 

21 January 1613

I really like sleeping like I do here, hearing his heartbeat and being so close to him. I like the sound or the feel or something of his heartbeat; it makes me feel so calm and peaceful. And when he plays with my hair, I see this sleepy, slightly goofy sort of smile that’s endearing and also reminds me that he’s happy. And I like when he’s happy. 

We just explored the city today. We went everywhere, from the dark and scary parts (which we went through quickly) to the lovely grass lawn in front of the palace. It’s strange; the palace looks at once stunningly beautiful and terrifyingly foreboding. I can’t imagine ever living there, but Candas and Orvill and Grantt do. How is that possible? It looked like a miserable place to live. 

Anyways, the city is huge and it took the whole day to explore it, and even then, we didn’t see everywhere. I can’t imagine living in a city this huge. Oh, and we found that school for girls Dolora says she went to. It looks nice enough, if...well...a girl’s school. Boy’s schools, like the university, look and feel like interesting places to be. This school looked more like a trap. 

I’m really very glad I don’t go to school. 

 

22 January 1613

We leave in two days. In two days, I have to go back to my mother and deal with her again. I have to go back to my normal life. I wish I didn’t have to. 

But for now, it’s still lovely here. It’s lovely living with my friends and Dolora and her nice (if a little odd) aunt. It’s lovely feeling safe, like I don’t have to worry about my safety every second. I wish I could feel like this all the time. That would be wonderful. 

Anyways, we went to the theater again and saw a play and then we went to the market again and I told Sigmun and Simonn to go ahead and I’d meet them in a second. I thought I’d buy them a present, so I found some chocolates in a candy store and bought them with the money I’ve been saving from when Mother drops coins around the house. I’ll give them to my friends tomorrow. I like giving people presents. 

Anyways, we sat in the square and read in the afternoon. Sigmun only brought two books from home, so we re-read the first novel and we all took turns and no one really gave it a second glance except when I was reading. When I was reading, everyone gave us funny looks and a few people stopped and asked why I knew how to read. Is it really that surprising that I can read? 

 

23 January 1613

Our last day. I already dread returning home. 

Last night, since Simonn was still persistently taking up the smaller bed, I slept like I have been the past few nights, snuggled against his side and resting my head on his chest so I can feel his heartbeat, calming and just there. Just being there means so much to me. And I like that sleepy, goofy little smile he has when he sleeps because I like knowing he’s happy, that I’m making him happy. 

Maybe I’m crazy. 

At any rate, we went to the library again and played some strange game where we’d try to find the strangest sentence in a book we could. I found one in a book on bugs that said, “The thorax, containing the soul in a human, is only an empty, senseless, instinctual void in the average insect.” Simonn’s oddest was, “The largest and most vital portion of a human being, his immortal soul, resides just behind his eyebrows.” (I think that was Alexander the Great, of all people.) But Sigmun’s was the oddest. “The ladybug, when placed in the proper environment, will immediately transform into a lethal stinging ladybug due to its sinful, carnivorous diet.” I’m completely serious. 

Anyways, Dolora’s Aunt Matilda made a lovely dinner and it was delicious and I’ll probably fall asleep next to Sigmun again tonight and I don’t feel so guilty because I haven’t had any dreams in a week and that’s such a delicious relief when all I’ve been getting for what feels like forever is nightmares and those very good dreams I can barely think about. 

 

24 January 1613

I feel so silly, obsessing over the fact that he held my hand all the way home. But I like very much the feeling of his hand in mine, all warm and strong and feeling like him. I can’t explain the specific feeling I have around him. Every person I’m close to has their own feeling and they all just feel that way. I can’t explain it. Maybe it’s the way he smells, like a campfire and the forest and forget-me-nots. Who knows. 

 

25 January 1613

Today Mother was furious with me and we were fighting like usual when she lunged at me (because she wasn’t drunk) and pinned me against the wall by my neck so I couldn’t breathe, even though my feet were still on the ground, and I was scared she was actually going to kill me. I hate how my mother is taller than I am. She’s taller than Sigmun, almost as tall as Father. If my parents were my blood parents, I’d be a lot taller. 

Anyways, I couldn’t breathe and I started kicking at her, but I couldn’t seem to aim and my vision blurred like when I was drowning and I started begging her to let me go (or at least I was trying to) and after what might’ve been forever she did, she just let me drop and walked away. I was gasping, trying to get my breath back, and Mother picked up a bottle and just started drinking, the way she does after Father leaves. 

I still feel a little strangled and there’s bruises around my neck. I hope no one asks about it. I don’t want to explain. I know Mother’s mad at me all the time and I guess it was my fault, leaving for a week like that. It’s always my fault, isn’t it? I wish there was something that wasn’t my fault. 

 

26 January 1613

We studied Russian today and Sigmun asked about my neck, but I told him it was nothing. I don’t want them worrying. I can deal with my mother on my own. 

 

27 January 1613

Today Simonn wasn’t there, and neither was Dolora, so Sigmun and I were alone. I expected him to kiss me, but instead he asked me about the bruises again. 

“It’s nothing, really.” 

“No, it’s not. I know bruises, and I know that’s from someone strangling you.”

“It’s nothing! I can handle it!”

“Dianna, I’m worried! She’s going to kill you!”

“I told you, I can handle it on my own!” I was getting upset because I’m not so sure I can handle it on my own anymore and I hate that. 

“No, you can’t!”

“How do you know what I can and can’t do?”

“Maybe I don’t, but you don’t have to!” 

I didn’t say anything to that because I wish I didn’t have to do this on my own. 

“Please, Dianna,” he said. “Please run away. You could live here, I swear. You could live with us and you wouldn’t have to do anything, really.” 

“I can’t. I can’t put that on you.”

“It wouldn’t be any trouble. I promise. Mama would love it.”

“How do you know?”

“Because Mama loves you and Simonn, too!” He paused. “Please? I just...I worry. I want you to be safe.”

“I’m perfectly fine.”

“Really,” he said sarcastically. 

“Really.” 

“The ring of bruises on your neck says otherwise. Very loudly.”

“They’ll be gone in a couple days.”

“That they are there at all is bad! Please, Dianna, just run away. There’s nothing wrong with keeping yourself safe.”

“Just let me work it out, okay?!”

“Alright, alright. Just...keep yourself safe, alright?”

“I will.” 

“Good.” He sighed that sort of sigh I hear from him sometimes, that one that means he’s worried and tired and stressed, but something’s been taken off his shoulders. I leaned against his side, because I was tired and I didn’t get much sleep last night, and he pulled me up onto his lap and I fell asleep resting my head on his chest. I felt him stroking my hair and kissing my forehead and my cheeks and he was just very sweet. I don’t know why he does things like that. He’s so affectionate and it’s so strange because it gives me this funny feeling inside and I never thought anyone could make me feel actually loved like that. 

Anyways, he didn’t wake me up or anything until it was almost dark out. Dolora asked me to stay for dinner, but I told her I had to go home because I did, so Mother wouldn’t hurt me like that again. 

 

28 January 1613

I had one of those dreams last night, about the two girls I don’t quite recognize, and this time the older girl hugged me and whispered, “I love you. Thank you...mother.” At least I have a better idea of what she’s saying. But I think there was something between “thank you” and “mother”. I wonder what. 

 

29 January 1613

Today Sigmun and I were kissing after Simonn left (we studied geometry and then Simonn left because he had to move firewood) and it was wonderful and I felt my blood taking up more space under my skin. I was kissing him and then he moved to kiss my neck, which normally I like very much, but my bruises weren’t quite gone and when he kissed me right on one of the worst bruises, it hurt horribly and I yelped. 

“Ouch!”

“Oh my goodness--I’m so sorry--I didn’t--I just forgot…” 

“It’s--it’s alright. I’m fine,” I said, trying to catch my breath (It’s surprising how much kissing makes me lose my breath). He hugged me, saying again how he was sorry, was I hurt, he was so sorry he forgot. 

“I’m fine, Sigmun. Really I am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hmm. Completely.”

“Alright…” He kissed my cheek and stroked my hair and I leaned forward and kissed him again, because I wasn’t hurt and I really like kissing him anyways. 

Dolora came home eventually and she asked me if I’d like to stay over the next day, because Simonn was, so I said of course. That’ll be fun. 

 

8 February 1613

Well. That was almost a huge disaster. 

I left my journal at Sigmun and Dolora’s after I stayed over there. I thought I lost it at home, so I practically tore up the house searching for it. But then, yesterday, I saw it sitting on a side table in front of a few other books, so I grabbed it and brought it home and I’m pretty sure no one read it, but that was a very, very close call. 

Anyways, it was a lovely overnight and it’s been a decent few days. Could be better, could be worse. My bruises are mostly gone and it doesn’t hurt when Sigmun kisses my neck (I do love that feeling). And I haven’t had so many dreams, so that’s nice. 

 

9 February 1613

It was snowing today, a very lovely snow with floating flakes and that quiet snow-sound I like so much. We studied British history and Sigmun got all excited like he does. He’s so sweet. He always blushes when I call him adorable or cute and then he says he’d rather be…And then he sits there and can’t come up with anything, so I just kiss him again instead. 

 

10 February 1613

A letter came from Neolla today. She talked about school and how it’s going well and even though there’s a lot of pressure to do very well (apparently there’s one teacher who punishes anyone below a ninety percent, which means that of a hundred questions they got ninety right), she likes it. It sounds absolutely horrendous to me, but she says she likes it. 

We studied French today. It’s such a lovely language. I’m glad I don’t have to go to school to learn it. 

 

11 February 1613

Mother drank a lot today and got very, very sick. She vomited all over the carpet and I got cuts all over my hands and knees trying to clean it all up because of the broken glass. But I’m fine. At least, I tell everyone I’m fine. Sometimes I tell myself I’m fine and sometimes I even manage to believe it. 

 

12 February 1613

I wonder sometimes about the strange man who knocked on the door. He was very odd. Not like Sigmun and Simonn are odd, either. He was just...strange. I wonder who he was. 

We studied algebra today. I didn’t mind it so much at all. 

 

13 February 1613

Today we practiced calligraphy and wrote a letter back to Neolla. It as an encouraging letter. We tried to make it optimistic and happy. I hope she likes it. 

After Simonn left, Sigmun kissed me and it was intense and exciting like it is and I felt far happier than I have in a while, which isn’t saying much, but it’s nice. And when I had to leave, he kissed me once on the cheek and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And I do. 

 

14 February 1613

Mother and I had a worse fight than usual today, which is saying something. It wasn’t even over anything that made sense. She was just yelling at me over everything, absolutely everything. She yelled at me because I’m useless and helpless and hopeless, I’m ugly and too clever and disobedient and stubborn, I’m never going to be able to attract a man on my own, I’m a horrible daughter with horrible friends, every single damn thing about me that’s wrong. Which is everything. I just feel miserable. 

 

15 February 1613

I know that the best thing for me would be to run away. I know it’d be safer, and better for my health, to go live with Dolora and Sigmun. I know that by all rights, I’d be better off if I’d never met Mother. And I certainly know that my friends are worried about me. But I can’t. I can’t run away, I can’t go live with them, I can’t do any of that. I don’t even know why. 

What’s wrong with me?

 

16 February 1613

I almost broke down today. I feel like I’m getting closer to shattering every day that goes by. I know that Sigmun would probably be sweet and hug me and probably he’d ask me to stay at least for dinner, and I know Dolora would make me tea and chicken soup and she’d tell me I’m perfect just the way I am (she says that a lot), and I know Simonn would roll his eyes and tell me that at least I’m not torturing myself anymore. I know they’d be nice. But I don’t want to break down. I can’t break down. I have to hold myself together. I’m not supposed to be feeling like this. I know what it’s supposed to mean, to be a woman. I’m supposed to smile, to be beautiful, to cook and clean and sew, to have children and raise them, to smile and always be just fine. I know that, and I can’t be that. What am I supposed to do? 

We studied proofs today, geometry proofs, and I was better at them than Sigmun, but not as good as Simonn. But then, they’re all about logic, and Simonn is possibly the most logical person I’ve ever met. 

 

17 February 1613

We didn’t do much today. We read some, but mostly we all lied around and bounced conversation around and read a couple pages of a novel. It was nice, resting. I don’t get so much rest these days. 

 

18 February 1613

I had one of those very good dreams last night, and I wish I wasn’t so ashamed of it, because it was nice and if that were my real life, I would be the happiest girl in the world. 

We studied Russian today and I’m getting close to having enough fluency to use it like child’s English. 

 

19 February 1613

I had such a nightmare. It was horrible, horrible, horrible. I…I killed all of them. Sigmun, Simonn, Dolora, Neolla, Mariek, even Hannah. I hurt them. I tortured them. I…I woke up sobbing. I thought it was real. I nearly started crying when I saw them alive and well today. I’m such a mess. 

We studied a new novel today. it was very good. 

 

20 February 1613

I saw the strange man in the village today with a blonde girl I assume was Rose. I heard him introduce himself as John. I’m very tempted to ask him what he’s doing here, but that would be rude. And what about the Rose girl? Is she his wife or his friend or what? How odd this whole affair is.

We studied chemistry today. It’s certainly better than biology or physics. 

 

21 February 1613

I do like the hours after Simonn leaves when Sigmun and I are alone and I can kiss him as much as I like. Maybe it’s selfish, but I do like kissing him very much. I like the feeling and the intensity and that there is someone in the world who likes to kiss me. I really do like that smell of forget-me-nots; I think it’s because Dolora grows them in pots in the house throughout the year. I think forget-me-nots are my favorite flower, even lovelier than daffodils. It’s just nice, knowing he loves me. It’s nice knowing there’s someone who does. 

22 February 1613

Much as I love Sigmun, he can be so completely tactless sometimes. 

Hannah came over today to practice writing and since Simonn was there, I thought I should probably let Simonn show Hannah how to write because they really should talk more. How else do you fall in love with someone? So after Hannah started, I said I had to go collect herbs for Dolora (which wasn’t actually a lie) and I told Sigmun to come with me. 

“Why?”

“Because I need help finding herbs.”

“I think you’re fine.”

“Then you can carry the basket.”

“Do I have to? It’s so nice inside.”

“Come on, we’re going,” I said, dragging him outside. 

“What was that all about?” he snapped. 

“Simonn. And. Hannah.”

“Yes?”

“They love each other,”

“So?”

“So I’m trying to get them to see that!”

“Okay...I’m still not sure I get it.” 

“We leave them alone together, they’ll talk, then realize they love each other, and it’ll all work out.”

“I guess so…”

“You are so tactless…”

“I am not!”

“Well, only sometimes.” 

“Gee, thanks.” 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“S’alright. I’m not mad anyways.”

“Good to know.” 

Anyways, we gathered herbs and when we got back, Hannah had left and Simonn was shaking and red. He gets shakey when he gets nervous; I’ve noticed that about him. He seemed a little upset, but I suppose he didn’t realize I left on purpose. 

 

23 February 1613

I had a horrible nightmare last night of the disease they talk about sometimes. I dreamed it killed everyone I love, and Mother and I were the only people left in town. I don’t think a dream has ever made me feel so lonely. 

We crossed the river today and found another clearing. This one had three oak trees in a row on one side, and a patch of nightshade berries on the other side. (Nightshade berries are really very scary, but easily avoided.) 

 

24 February 1613

Today wasn’t so bad. I didn’t have any nightmares, and my very good dreams haven’t been so bad since getting out and since kissing him. And we studied Russian, which is fun. I don’t think I’ll ever like languages any less than I do now. 

 

25 February 1613

It took me a long time to get ready this morning because last night I fought with Mother and I didn’t sleep so well. But Simonn left before I did and Dolora wasn’t home, so Sigmun and I could kiss for a long time and it felt wonderful, like it always does. Even though sometimes I feel like maybe I shouldn’t be, because you’re not supposed to do things like that until you’re married, I don’t think it’s so wrong. What could be wrong about something that feels so good?

 

26 February 1613

We studied physics today because it was Simonn’s turn to choose. It wasn’t so bad at all; I quite understood some of it. 

 

27 February 1613

Mother had me meet another man today. He kept trying to kiss me, so I just stood up and left. Mother was angry with me, but she didn’t touch me, she just yelled. I wonder if she feels bad about strangling me, even though it was a month ago. She’ll forget before long. 

 

28 February 1613

I don’t know what I’ve done. I just…I don’t know.

Today, after Simonn left, and Sigmun and I were kissing, and I felt that rush of energy and I felt so good, and so warm, and I loved it. And then I just realized what I was doing, and I practically shoved him away and I scrambled away and I was just completely panicking.

“Dianna?”

“Oh my goodness…what the hell am I doing?”

“What? Are you okay? Did…did I hurt you?”

“N-No, it’s not that. I…I don’t…I have to go!”

“What?”

“I’m sorry!” I shrieked. “I have to go!” I stood up and grabbed my cloak and I practically ran out the door. I just…what am I doing? I’m not supposed to be doing this! I mean…I’m not married to him. I’m not engaged to him. I’m just going around kissing him like…oh my goodness. I just…is it wrong? Is it a horrible thing? Am I wrong?

What the hell am I doing? I need to sort myself out. I know it’s wrong, I know it must be wrong. But how can it be wrong when it’s possibly the happiest I’ve been in my life? I don’t know. I just…I can’t think. I don’t know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So his name is John. Make of that what you will. 
> 
> And please leave a review! Reviews motivate me to write faster! Also they make a very awkward and dorky writer very happy.


	14. Five Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a bad day with my mother today. I can’t think of the last good day with her, actually.

1 March 1613

I didn’t want to go see Sigmun today, but I also didn’t want to stay home with Mother, and I decided risking my dignity was better than risking my sanity, so I left.

When I got there, Sigmun looked away from me and crossed his arms, like he was closing himself off from me. (Simonn was at home dealing with some spring cleaning, apparently.)

“Hi.”

“Hi, Sigmun.”

“Uh…do you want to read a book or something?”

“Sure. You pick.”

“Okay.”

He picked a history book, just on French history, and sat on the couch a foot away from me and just read, pretty much in a monotone, not like he usually does with all the inflection and hand gestures. I felt so horrible about it, because I didn’t mean to panic like that, it just all came at me and I…and I panicked.

He was a few pages in when I blurted, “I’m sorry!”

“What?”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to panic like that, I just…I just can’t…I…I’m sorry!”

“It’s alright. I understand.” He sounded so dejected, even a little hollow, like he thought I didn’t love him anymore.

“No, it’s not…you don’t…I still love you! I do! It’s just…you’re supposed to do things like this, you’re allowed to, and I’m not, I’m not supposed to even be close to a boy until I’m married, and I just…I can’t!”

“Sorry, but…I kind of lost track of that.”

“I mean…isn’t that what boys are supposed to do, go around kissing all these girls before they get married? And then girls aren’t supposed to go near any boys before they get married…And here I am kissing you all the time and I like it and that’s just not supposed to happen!”

“…I’m still lost.”

“What else can I possibly explain?!”

“Well, if boy are supposed to kiss girls, but girls aren’t supposed to kiss boys, who’re the boys supposed to kiss?”

“I never said it made sense, did I?”

“Well, if it doesn’t make sense, they why bother with it?”

“Because that’s how things are and I just do my best to deal with it. I’m used to it.”

“So…you still love me?”

“Of course. Don’t be dumb.”

“Good…because I still love you.”

I scoffed. I didn’t really mean to, it just came out.

“I mean it!”

“I know.”

“Then what was that all about?”

“Well, what’s the point if you can’t kiss me?”

“The point is that I love you!”

I didn’t really have anything to say to that, so I just pulled my knees up to my chin and wrapped my arms around my legs. It’s something I do a lot. I think it was Simonn who told me it’s probably self-protective. “This is crazy.”

“What is?”

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to think anymore.”

“You could try not worrying about what you’re supposed to think and just think whatever you like.” He wasn’t sarcastic at all, which I found a little bit strange.

“You think I haven’t tried? Every time I think I’ve got it, my _mother_ just throws everything back in my face and screws it all up again!” I know I spat the word “mother”, but I just hate her so much sometimes!

“Well…if it helps…I mean, no one can read your mind. If you think something, no one knows unless you tell them. For all I know, right now you’re thinking about how much you hate me.”

“I’d never think that!”

“Well, that’s nice to know.”

He sat there for a while before he moved over a little closer to me and put an arm around my shoulders, very slowly, like he thought I’d push him away. I don’t want to push him away. I like knowing someone cares.

“So…do you want to keep reading?” he finally asked.

“I…sure.”

I was tired and I felt a little bit sick, but I was happy that I was with him, because I still love him. I just…I want to kiss him, I like kissing him, but I know I’m not supposed to. It’s so confusing. What I want to do and what I’m supposed to do run directly opposite and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

 

2 March 1613

Today, when I came over, he looked awkward and a little nervous, so I kissed him once on the lips, quickly, because I like kissing him and I don’t want to lose that. I think that it’s more important that I love him and he loves me, but kissing is nice and I’d rather be able to kiss him than not.

Anyways, I told him I was sorry, and he said it was fine, he wasn’t upset, he forgave me, even though I hadn’t done anything that needed forgiving, and would I mind terribly if he kissed me, and I said no, not at all.

I hope he means that he forgives me. I’m so close to snapping these days that I’m not sure what will push me over the edge anymore.

 

10 June 1613

I must be getting forgetful. I lost my journal again! This time, it was under a pile of clothes I haven’t moved in months, because I always feel too tired. At any rate, at least Mother didn’t find it.

Well, Sigmun and I are still that special sort of close and we still kiss on the days when Simonn leaves early, which is probably about once a week. It’s nice. It’s nice knowing he loves me. He and Simonn try to persuade me to run away at least three times a week. I still can’t.

 

11 June 1613

June is a lovely month. We’re almost done cleaning out the clearing. It’s going to be wonderful for growing food. The soil is that dark color that’s good for planting, the sort farmers always look for when they’re buying fields. It’s certainly good that there’ll be more space for food to grow, because no one has enough food around here and so many people are sick that growing herbs to help them would be wonderful.

 

12 June 1613

It’s been a year since I kissed him for the first time. How much has happened since then. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if I hadn’t. If I’d pushed him away again like when we were fourteen and he tried to kiss me for the first time. I just wonder what would have happened.

On the whole, I’m glad I didn’t.

 

13 June 1613

Staying the night at Dolora and Sigmun’s has recently become a good deal more complicated. Mostly because the roof over Sigmun’s room started leaking and he sleeps on the couch now, so I can’t sleep anywhere, so I get flustered and just walk home in the dark. But I know that at some point I’ll have to stay over for one reason or another and I’m nervous because though I love him and he knows it, it’s still very married to sleep in the same bed and a couch is even worse.

We went out the clearing with the pine tree in the middle and lied in the grass and stared up at the sky and talked about things. It was nice.

 

14 June 1613

I was so tempted to steal one of my mother’s bottles today. I was so tempted. But I don’t want to end up like her and I swore I’d be better than that. I’m not going to end up sad and alone and drinking to forget like her, if even just to prove to her that I’m better than that. I don’t want to forget anything. I don’t want to end up like her.

 

15 June 1613

Dolora took out the stitches in my arm today and told me that I could move in with them any time, I actually could, and she would clean out the guest room and I could sleep there, I didn’t have to live with my mother. She continued in that vein for quite a while and she’s right, I just don’t want to admit it.

 

16 June 1613

I feel ill again, and I hope I don’t actually have a cold. I don’t want to get sick now; I just have two more months left. Two months plus a few days until freedom from my mother.

I wonder what my life will be like without her. What will I do with my evenings and nights? Will I have fewer nightmares? How will I buy food and fabric? What will it be like to fall asleep without crying, without anger and resentment holding my breath in a tight knot in my chest?

I look forward to it.

 

17 June 1613

Well. Today has been completely humiliating and kind of funny. Mostly because Simonn doesn’t usually come over late, and Dolora wasn’t home and—

I’ll start from the beginning.

I thought it was just Sigmun and I today, because Dolora had to go to town for work and Simonn didn’t show up for two or three hours. He almost never comes late. So, we sat for a while, just reading a book, and had lunch, and it was just a normal sort of day. But then, when we were sitting on the couch after lunch, I felt his hands slowly inch around my middle more and more until we were completely wrapped around each other. And for some crazy reason, I found I had enough courage to lean up just a little and kiss him right on the lips. He kissed me back and I felt his hands reach up to thread through my hair. I threw my arms around his neck and pressed my lips to his even harder, I don’t even know why. I opened my lips a little and I felt him do the same and I fell on top of him so that I was pressed so close to him that I could feel his heartbeat. I started kissing his neck and his breath was so hot against my skin and he made this sort of moaning sound that made me want to faint. Then he started kissing my neck and I couldn’t help but whisper his name and he kissed me even harder, so I thought I’d get a bruise (thank heaven I didn’t, I don’t want to explain that to Mother). I kissed his lips again and our mouths were pressed so tight against each other that everything else faded.

Apparently that included the sound of the front door opening and closing and Simonn shouting, “Hey guys!” Because a long time later, I heard Simonn say, “So, when’s the wedding?”

I pulled away from Sigmun faster than I thought was possible and we both sat up awkwardly and I saw Simonn smirking. I felt my face turn a really awful shade of crimson. “Seriously. You two…It’s probably a good thing I’m not Dolora!”

Sigmun sort of gaped for a long moment and then just shut his mouth. “We…I…uh…I…we…”

“It’s fine,” Simonn laughed. His face had gone red from laughing. “Come on then. Anyone want to go pick berries?”

“If you swear never to tell anyone about this,” Sigmun said.

“C’mon. What sort of person do you think I am?”

“Let’s go,” I said. “I’ll get the baskets.” I stood up and I was shaking. “Can we pretend this never happened?”

“You two feel free. I think I’ll bring it up when there is a wedding.”

“SIMONN!” Sigmun shouted.

“What? It’s hilarious.”

“Stop it!” I protested.

“I was right, wasn’t I? I said you had nothing to lose. I said it over and over and over—”

“Wait—you knew?” Sigmun shouted. “You knew the whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Both of you told me, then made me swear not to tell, and then stubbornly resisted every hint I dropped. It was kind of impressive, actually.”

“I—I don’t even know what to say.”

“You could try saying that you’re both idiots and at least you figured it out somehow.”

“I hate you,” I contributed.

“You don’t. Let’s go.”

And, to be honest, I don’t.

 

18 June 1613

I made a deal with Simonn today; I told him he had to tell Hannah by the end of October. He could tell her on All Hallows’ Eve, that would be so romantic. I think they deserve each other. Simonn’s still fretting, though. I’d make Hannah swear to tell, too, but she’s so shy it might just be mean. Simonn’s not shy, just nervous.

 

19 June 1613

Sigmun seems worried. Of course he is; my face blooms with fresh bruises almost every day now. I don’t want him to worry, but I can’t cover up the bruises without making it obvious. Simonn’s worrying, too, that much is clear. But he covers it up better. Simonn has to cover it up for his siblings, lest they worry as well. But he really needn’t bother around us; I want to know if he’s worried, so maybe he can open up about it. I know talking about things helps, and I want my friends to be happy, so I wish they’d both just talk more.

 

20 June 1613

Dolora did a few more stitches today, this time in my hand, and she said, “Dianna dear, speaking as a doctor, you really should leave. it’s horrible for your health, both your body and your mind.” She had that medical tone, but I knew she was worried.

I shrugged, because I didn’t know what to say. “I don’t know.”

“Dear, speaking as…” She paused, like she wasn’t quite sure what to say. I wanted her to say “your mother”, but I didn’t want her to feel responsible for me. I just…I can’t explain why I wanted her to say that, either. It’s crazy. I just wanted to have a mother, or at least pretend. I just don’t want to be nobody’s daughter, no one’s pride and joy, no one’s little girl. I’m no one’s child.

“Speaking as your mother, I can’t condone you staying.”

I felt tears in my eyes and I hoped I could pass them off as hurting from the stitches, but I knew I couldn’t. Dolora knows me too well. So I let myself cry, just a little, and Dolora hummed a little lullaby I seem to remember hearing before, something in French. “It’s alright, Dianna dear. It’s going to be just fine.”

“How can you say that?”

“It’s always fine in the end, dear. Always.”

I just nodded and let her finish wrapping the stitches. “Keep this clean, and then make sure you’re here tomorrow so I can put on more salve.”

“I will.”

“And eat a full bowl of stew tonight, and some bread if you can, and drink plenty of water, and get a good night’s sleep, and chew mint leaves before bed, and use a thimble if you really must sew with a cut like that--”

“I will, Dolora.”

“Alright, dear. Be careful.”

“I will be, I promise.” It’s practically a game now, her reminding me of everything I don’t like to admit I forget to do. And I love her for it.

 

21 June 1613

I did get some sewing done, because I’m making a new quilt and it’s taking a while. I might take it to Dolora and Sigmun’s and work on it there some, because they all know how to sew. At least I haven’t lost my book of patterns yet. I’ve had the same one since I was six. I think everything I’ve ever sewn has been in that book.

Anyways, today we planted some herbs and a few berry bushes in the clearing now that it’s empty of thorn bushes and prickly plants. I don’t remember what the proper name of the prickly plants is; I just call them pricklies. Sometimes Dolora has us collect them and that’s difficult because you have to be very careful pulling the leaves off the stem. I mastered it a long time ago, because I suppose writing and sewing and knitting has made me relatively dexterous.

 

22 June 1613

I feel so torn. I see three ways out of my predicament: I could marry one of the men Mother wants me to marry, I could keep living with Mother until I turn eighteen, or I could run away. I am never, not in a million years, going to marry one of the men Mother’s tried to get me interested in. That leaves two options, one infinitely more appealing than the other. I don’t know why I don’t leave.

 

23 June 1613

Two months minus one day left. I can get through this. I know I can. At least, I’ll try.

We studied physics today and Simonn explained it quite well, but i feel too afraid to really absorb it the way I used to. If that even makes sense.

 

24 June 1613

I had such a strange conversation with Sigmun and Simonn today.

“You know, Dianna, I just don’t understand you sometimes,” Simonn said.

“I don’t understand me sometimes. That’s part of being a person.”

“No, I mean…What’s your favorite color?”

“Green, the olive colored kind.”

“Favorite book?”

“Lost at Sea.”

“Do you prefer pencils or pens?”

“Pens. They don’t wear out so quickly.”

“What do you think of your birth family?”

“I don’t know them well enough to really care.”

“What about your mother?”

“I don’t love her and I want her out of my life.”

“What about Sigmun and Dolora and I?”

“Well, I love all of you, if that’s what you mean.”

“Are you optimistic or pessimistic?”

“Rather a mix, I think.”

“Give me five things you know about yourself.”

“I’m short, I like to read and write, I’m stubborn, I’m relatively clever, I love you and Sigmun and Dolora.”

“How many hours of sleep do you need a night?”

“Eight and a half or so.”

“How do you know you’re sick?”

“My head hurts by my forehead, my nose gets stuffy, and my back hurts.”

“Do you prefer sciences or humanities?”

“Humanities, because there’s lots of right answers and all of them make sense.”

“Why do you like languages?”

“Because it’s amazing that words mean certain things to certain people, the way words can change people’s minds or break their hearts or mend them again.”

“Would it be safer here or at your mother’s house?”

“Here.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

I had no answer for that.

“Give me five things you like about yourself.”

“Uh…I can read and write…I…um…Give me a second…”

“See, that’s what I mean. Sigmun, give me five things you like about yourself.”

He looked surprised, but he said, “Let’s see…I’m quite clever…I’m pretty brave…I’m good at speaking in public…I have you all…and I’m good at swimming. Simonn, you list five.”

“Well, I’m very smart when it comes to science, I can take care of my siblings, I’m a pretty decent teacher, I have the two different eyes, and I can do math pretty damn well.”

“How the hell do you just pick five things and list them off like that?” I asked.

“Not without difficulty,” Sigmun contributed. “It’s not exactly easy listing five things you like about yourself!”

“But that’s my point!” Simonn said. “Here you are, rattling off answers to really complicated questions, and you can’t list five good things about yourself. Sigmun, how many hours of sleep do you need?”

“Um…several?”

“Humanities or science?”

“Uh…humanities.”

“How do you feel about your birth mother?”

“I…uh…I don’t know! That’s a hell of a question!”

“See what I mean?”

“Yeah, I suppose so.” I sighed, because Simonn’s right. “I bet I can name six things I like about both of you.”

Simonn rolled his eyes.

“I can! Okay, Simonn. You’re the cleverest person I know. You’re really kind to your siblings. You’re perceptive about people. You’re a good listener. You keep calm in emergencies. And you’re not afraid to say you can sew and knit and cook.” Simonn rolled his eyes again, but I saw him blush. “Sigmun. You’re the bravest person I know. You’re sweeter than honey. You look at the world like it can be changed, not like it’s stuck kind of this way. You want to change the world for the better. You’re kind to most everyone. And you have a very good reading voice.” Sigmun hid behind the book.

“I take that challenge,” Simonn said. “Sigmun. You’re kind, brave, motivated, optimistic, clever, and helpful. Dianna. You’re smart, perceptive, kind, outspoken, genuine, and you challenge people.” I buried my face in my knees.

“My turn,” Sigmun said, putting the book down. His face was still red. “Dianna, you’re kind, and you’re clever, and you don’t back down, and you’re good at listening, and you’re good at figuring out people, and you’re an excellent writer. And I think you’re beautiful.” I pulled my knees closer to my chest. “Simonn, you’re smart as hell, and you’re also good at listening, and you give good advice, and you’re confident, and you’re kind, and you’re reasonable no matter the situation. Oh, and the two different eyes thing is really interesting-looking, too.”

“Thanks,” I said, though I’m not sure they heard because I was still hiding my face in my knees.

After that, it was dark and I had to leave for home. But I keep thinking. Five things. I’ll just try to come up with five.

 

25 June 1613

We planted more berries and herbs and other plants in the clearing. It’ll be cultivated properly by next year. The seeds this year are mostly about making sure the weeds don’t come back.

 

26 June 1613

It was a bad day with my mother today. I can’t think of the last good day with her, actually. But today was worse than most and I feel sick to my stomach from the smell of alcohol and vomit and drying blood. I don’t want to add to the smell with my own vomit, but I feel so sick. I ought to clean up some tomorrow.

 

27 June 1613

I did clean up the house today and it doesn’t smell so bad, but everything feels tainted and stained. My whole life feels tainted.

We read today, a book of poetry by someone whose name I don’t quite remember. It was nice spending time with Sigmun and Simonn. I still love my friends more than anyone or anything else in the world.

 

29 June 1613

I was so tired yesterday I just forgot to write. Anyways, we crossed the river and we explored yesterday and today. And there’s another deer path we found that leads somewhere. We don’t have enough time to follow it to its end.

 

30 June 1613

Today when I went to Sigmun and Dolora’s and I opened the door (Dolora never latches it during the day and I can undo the latch from the outside anyways), Rosalie from the city was sitting at the table with a cup of tea.

“Um...Hello, Miss Lalonde,” I tried, confused.

“Rose, please,” she said. “And you’re Dianna?”

“Mm-hmm.” I didn’t really know what to do, so I slipped into the library and, when no one was there, checked behind the bookshelf where I once caught Sigmun reading romance poetry. I suppose he’s still a little embarrassed.

“Sigmun, uh…why is Dolora’s…friend here?”

He jumped again and dropped the book of romance poetry that I quite like, too.

“You scared me, jeez…”

“Sorry. But what on Earth?”

“She’s…uh…she’s staying here for a few days, Mama said. I don’t know why.”

“Alright.” I was too tired to ask further. “Is Simonn going to be here?”

“I don’t know.”

I nodded and said, “You pick today.”

He stood and plucked a book off one of the higher shelves (Dolora said we could read whatever books we could reach) and we sat on the couch and read this book on what they’re now calling the Hundred Year’s War. It wasn’t war for one hundred years, so I don’t know why they call it that, but there you have it.

Anyways, I couldn’t sleep last night, so I curled up on his lap and rested my head on his chest and fell asleep like that because it was very comfortable and he was breathing softly and I fell asleep easily. When I woke up, he was asleep, too.

I woke him up on accident when I shifted trying to get a blanket because I was cold, even though it’s June. By then it was late enough that I had to head home, but Sigmun asked if I’d stay for dinner, and when I asked why, he said he that it was dumb but he really didn’t want to eat dinner with just Dolora and Rose, so I laughed and said I’d stay. He’s sweet.

So I stayed for dinner and it was quite good and Rose kept asking questions about what it’s like living in the village, which Sigmun and I couldn’t answer because neither of us really do. But she seems nice and I think Dolora’s happy with her. I hope so, anyways. I like it when Dolora’s happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I finished this in one week.
> 
> Also, here is a chemistry pun to prove a point to my sister: Which two elements went to med school? Helium and curium.


	15. Eighteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twenty-two days. Or twenty-one, deping on how you look at it. I'd prefer to think twenty-one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I should put some sort of warning for Dianna's mother in this chapter.

1 July 1613

I wonder what I’ll do for Sigmun’s birthday. I made Simonn puff pastries and a pair of mittens. I’ll come up with something, I’m sure.

Rose was at Sigmun and Dolora’s again today, but she was in town most of the day, presumably with Dolora.

We went to the creek and waded in the shallowest part for a while. It is boiling out these days.

 

2 July 1613

Rose was sitting at the table with her cup of tea again today. I just feel so strange with her there; I’m so used to Sigmun and Simonn and occasionally Dolora. And Rose is just something else. She’s very forward, and she always flirts with Dolora (though I think that’s sweet), and she speaks her mind more than anyone else I’ve ever met. She’s nice, though; I like her.

I wonder, what if Dolora and Rose could be married? I know it’s impossible, but I think Dolora of all people deserves a nice marriage and lovely, long life. Would Sigmun have two mothers then? What a strange concept, having two mothers. But I’d rather have two mothers than my mother and father. If my father was a girl or my mother was a boy, I don’t think my life would be any different. I’d still have awful parents.

Anyways, Sigmun seemed tired, so we all walked to the river and sat on the rocks in the middle of the shallow part and spent time at the river. I like the river.

 

3 July 1613

It was still hot enough to fry an egg today, so we went swimming. Some things never change. July is such an unpleasant month sometimes, but spending time with my friends really outshines anything else.

 

4 July 1613

We swam again today and when we sat on the grass by the water, I realized how much I have with them, with my real family. There’s just something about the way I love them and the way they seem to love me. I didn’t think it was so important, but now I wonder because nothing makes me feel as good as they do. Even though I don’t get butterflies in my stomach looking at Sigmun’s goofy smile like I used to, it still makes me feel warm and loved. There’s just something about having a family at heart, when my family by blood has long since soured.

 

5 July 1613

Today when I climbed out of the river to sit on a rock and I tucked my legs up a little out of the water like I do, and Sigmun swam up while I was trying to braid my hair back and grabbed my ankle. I screamed bloody murder and kicked my leg and I barely missed his face.

“Woah!” he shouted.

“Oh, I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay.” He had that wicked grin on his face I know very well. “Scared you though.”

“I was sitting here braiding my hair, jeez.”

He pulled himself onto the rock next to mine and grinned again. He was just sitting there with a goofy, genuine grin on his face and I felt ten years old again, young and free. So I dove into the water and pulled Sigmun into the water, prompting to shout, “Stop flirting and get over here!” I rolled my eyes and it turned out Simonn wanted us to test out the ropes on the bridge to catch if we got caught in the current. Well, it worked.

 

6 July 1613

Today we took a novel to the creek and sat with our feet in the water and read. Dolora says if we take books outside, we better be damn careful with them (to this day it’s the only time I’ve ever heard her curse).

It was a lovely day and a good book. I couldn’t stay late with Sigmun, though, because of Mother. She’s been so angry lately that I have to make my own dinner if I want to eat, which isn’t so often anymore.

 

7 July 1613

Mother and I had such a fight today, worse than the normal ones. My voice hurts from screaming and my hands hurt from when I fell backward and threw my arms out to break the fall and my arm hurts from yet another cut from one of Mother’s bottles. I don’t want any more stitches, but I’m going to need them. I’m so tired of this. I just want it to be over.

 

8 July 1613

We stayed inside today because I had stitches in my arm and Dolora sighed when she did them, sounding all tired and worried. “Dianna dear, I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

Dolora gave me a skeptical look. “Well, if you’d ever like to talk, I’m here.”

“Thanks, Dolora.”

“Any time, dear.”

After Dolora left and Sigmun and Simonn and I were l reading, Rose asked me, “How did that happen?”

“Uh…My mother was drunk last night…It’s alright, it happens all the time, really…”

“That’s not okay, though!”

“I’m fine.”

“Is it like this in all the villages?”

“My mother’s the worst I know of.”

“Why don’t you run away?”

“I don’t know!” I snapped.

“Alright, alright,” Rose said, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’m just saying. I’m not in politics for nothing.”

“What does politics have to do with horrible parents?” Simonn interjected.

“Well, we could make laws to protect children, see,” Rose says.

“Oh,” I said. I sighed and leaned back on the couch. “Sigmun, keep on reading, will you?”

Sigmun nodded and kept reading. I still don’t know what to think about laws protecting children. Having laws protecting me from my mother just seems impossible.

 

9 July 1613

Today was Rose’s last day here. Dolora made a nice dinner and Simonn and I stayed for dinner. I wonder if it’s odd for Sigmun. He’s never had two parents (really only Simonn has, and that’s only sort of), so it must’ve been strange having two adults in the house. I think it’d be odd having my father home all the time, though it might be better for everyone if he was.

Anyways, it was a nice dinner and Rose left right afterwards. I hope she visits sometimes; I rather like her.

 

10 July 1613

It was actually tolerable outside today, so we went to the clearing with the forget-me-nots and lied in the shade and stared at the clouds. I like the forget-me-nots; I like their smell and their color and I like the idea of not forgetting. When I was little, I pretended that when someone died, a forget-me-not would grow so no one would forget them.

I was a strange child. I just like the idea of always remembering. I don’t think you can really forget someone who’s important to you, ever. Forgetting is a choice, in my opinion, and it’s one I’d rather not make. I’d rather remember. After all, I think a person is her stories and if you forget your stories, what do you have left?

 

11 July 1613

We read a book of poetry today and it was quite good. I also fought with Mother, but that’s nothing new. I’m getting quite good at dodging her attacks and getting to my room silently.

 

12 July 1613

I’ve been making a hat out of bright red wool I got at the market the other day. Mother hates the color red, so I got the most expensive sort of yarn I could in the color. It’s probably going to backfire, but I just can’t let her win. Anyways, it’ll make a nice present.

 

13 July 1613

I think I’ll go over early tomorrow. I can go over early and stay late and it’ll be nice to have a light day.

We went to the river today and made a swing out of rope and tied it to a branch and it was a very good swing. It was actually an alright day.

 

14 July 1613

Today was Sigmun’s birthday! I escaped early and I made him baked apples, because baked apples are his favorite and I wanted to do something nice because I missed his birthday last year. I like doing nice things for my friends. Dolora was in the market in the morning, so when Sigmun wandered into the kitchen (I suppose he thought I wasn’t there yet for one reason or another), he rubbed his eyes and said, “Am I crazy?”

“I don’t think so, but I can’t say for sure.”

“Mama left already?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What’s that?”

“Baked apples.”

“Really?”

“No, they’re actually mashed potatoes I painted to look like apples.”

“Well, let me help then.”

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“This is your birthday present.”

“So?”

“So, I’m making your baked apples for your birthday. That means you’re not allowed to help out.”

“I can cook just as well as you can.”

“I know that. But it’s a gift.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Happy birthday!” I hugged him and he hugged me back.

“Hey, is Simonn coming over today?”

“I hope so!”

“Yeah…” Sigmun sat on the counter and hunched his shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

“How do you that?!”

“Do what?”

“Where I just sit here, and you just know that something’s wrong.”

“You hunched your shoulders.”

“That’s weird.”

“Excuse me!”

“I don’t mean…Never mind. Just had a bad nightmare.”

“Want to tell me about it? I have some experience with nightmares.”

“No, s’alright. It was weird.”

“Alright.”

He kicked the air while I put the apples in the oven. “What time is it?” I asked.

“Eight-thirty on the dot.”

“Right. I’ll take them out at eight fifty.”

“Baked apples are the best.”

“Oh, I nearly forgot.”

“What?”

“I made this for you, too.” I handed him the hat.

“Wow, thanks!”

“You’re welcome. That’s about three days of very careful knitting right there.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“Well, I did anyways. Mother was really angry when I got the yarn. She hates the color red, says it’s undignified or something.”

“Sorry…”

“Don’t apologize! It’s the only way I can get back at her now, doing stuff like that. Anyways, do you like it?”

“Yeah, I do.”

Simonn wandered in just then and said, “Happy birthday, Siggy!”

“Thanks,” Sigmun said, grinning. “We’re having baked apples, apparently.”

“Yum,” Simonn said, sitting on the counter kitty corner from Sigmun. “Anyways, here’s something I thought you’d like.” He tossed a coin at Sigmun.

“A whole penny? Simonn--”

“Hey, eighteen’s a pretty big number. Happy birthday.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

“Alright…”

“Hey, what time is it?” I asked.

“Eight fifty, give or take,” Simonn said. “Why?”

“Apples are done,” I announced, grabbing a rag and pulling them out of the oven. “Two for everyone.”

“Six apples? Wow,” Simonn commented.

“Eighteen is a big number, like you said,” I shrugged. “Wait for them to cool, Sigmun.”

“What makes you think I wouldn’t?”

“Remember when we were thirteen and Dolora taught us how to make cinnamon bread and you burned your tongue so bad you couldn’t taste anything for three days?”

“Vividly. But I’m not thirteen anymore, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“Well, still wait a couple minutes.”

“Fine.”

Once the apples were cool, we each took two and followed the path to the creek, where we spent the day splashing each other and picking berries and lying lazily in the sun. It was a lovely day. It’s funny; it’s never rained on his birthday as long as I can remember. And of course I stayed for dinner. Dolora made this lovely meal of mashed potatoes and some sort of stew, the kind she only makes on special occasions. It was a good day, overall.

 

15 July 1613

It was horribly hot out today, so we went swimming in the river. It was lovely, swimming around like that. I love swimming and especially when it’s so hot out because the cool water is invigorating. While we were swimming, I ducked my head under and grabbed Simonn’s ankle. He screamed bloody murder and practically jumped out of the water!

“Calm down, Simmie. It’s just me.”

“Dammit, Deedee. You scared me!”

“I know.”

Simonn rolled his eyes and swatted at me, which obviously I ducked. He’s so silly.

 

16 July 1613

I’ve been so stressed recently and today Dolora made me tea again. Sigmun apparently decided that he’d be sweeter than usual and he played with my hair while I curled up against his side and rested my head on his shoulder. I only fell asleep for a little while, but being so warm and having someone holding me and treating me like I’m worth something and the tea and the sense of being loved, it just makes me feel good enough and safe enough to sleep. Which takes a lot these days. Anyways, I know he likes snuggling up close to me (the feeling is mutual, I must say), and I’m always happy to see him happy. It’s one of the few things that makes me smile these days.

 

17 July 1613

They tried to talk me into leaving again today and I don’t know why I don’t. I can’t argue for why I don’t leave. Nothing makes sense about it. I just can’t.

It was hot out, so we went swimming again. I didn’t mean to glance at Sigmun like that, but he’s so handsome and I glance at him too often anyways. I even caught him looking at me once (Except once he realise I’d caught him he started blushing red as a rose). He’s very sweet.

 

18 July 1613

Mosquitoes. I hate the damn things. They can kill you and if they don’t, the bites itch like hell. Dolora uses smoke to keep them away. I’m not sure Mother notices anymore. But I sure as hell do, so I’ve been burning green woods to keep them away. And I put the curtain back on my window so they can’t get in that way. My walk is the worst. But once it’s September, the first freeze should hit and kill all of them. At least I don’t live near a pond or something.

 

19 July 1613

Dolora keeps worrying; I can see it in her eyes. There’s always a certain sort of heaviness in her eyes that I don’t point out, but I certainly see. But I see it more and more lately and I wish I wasn’t worrying her. I don’t want to be a burden and I certainly don’t want to worry her. I know she’s more like what a mother is supposed to be than my own mother, but I still wish she wouldn’t worry so much. I’m nothing to be worried about.

 

20 July 1613

I hate feeling so sick all the time. I wouldn’t be able to tell if I was actually sick anymore; it’d just feel like another awful day living with my mother. But I don’t want to take any medicines; it’ll just make it obvious how horrible I feel.

At least I can have Dolora’s tea. If nothing else, it helps me calm down.

 

21 July 1613

I had one of those dreams about drowning last night, except this time Sigmun and Simonn and I were swimming and then they both left when the storm started. But it was my mother’s voice in the thunder, taunting me for trusting and loving her when I was a child, because she’d never loved me and never would. And then I woke up screaming for the first time in months and Mother was furious with me again.

We didn’t go swimming, luckily. We picked berries in the clearing with the pine tree in the middle and waded in the creek. It was nice.

 

22 July 1613

This mess again. We went to the village today and I was sitting with Neolla and Hannah and Mariek (Hannah comes over some days still to work on her writing, but not so often now that she’s better. Too bad; it was so sweet when she’d come over and Simonn would start shaking and laughing awkwardly because he was so nervous. They’d be a wonderful couple) and just kind of spending time together and talking, it wasn’t anything special.

Anyways, we were planning on going home (Sigmun and Simonn and I), and we had started walked back to Sigmun and Dolora’s through the square from the park where we usually spend time. We were by the fountain when I saw the soldiers coming into town and I realized that we had to go.

“Sigmun, Simonn, we have to go.”

“Why?” Sigmun asked.

“Soldiers…”

“Oh, we better go,” Simonn said, nodding.

I nodded, too, and we started walking towards the edge of the market because it’s really not a good idea to walk right through the market if you’re like us. I suppose we looked suspicious doing that, because when the guards split up I saw two of them point at us.

“Here we go again,” Simonn muttered under his breath. He turned and ran down Sheppard’s Alley, Sigmun and I following close behind. Problematically, it’s hard to run fast through an alley, so they almost caught up to us when we got to the end and turned down the street. I hate how they target people no one would miss.

Sigmun led the way into the woods near the forget-me-not clearing, and then he turned so sharply I almost stumbled. “I know where to go,” he said, pulling us towards the creek. We finally arrived at the creek and we were far enough ahead that we had a moment to rest before Sigmun stepped in the creek and started walking upstream. “Come on,” he murmured. “It turns pretty sharply up here, remember?”

“Of course,” I said. I heard the soldiers behind us and panicked.

“Sigmun--” Simonn began

“Down!” I hissed, shoving Sigmun and Simonn down in the creek at the deepest part and then ducking down myself. I held my breath and prayed that the soldiers hadn’t seen us.

I held my breath as long as I could before I felt like I was going to faint and I sat up and drunk the air in like I’d never breathed before. The soldiers had turned the wrong way down the creek, I realized. How unlucky for them.

Anyways, I was absolutely soaking from being in the river and then Sigmun and Simonn and I just sat there for a moment, unmoving, as to stay silent and concealed.

Finally, the woods were quiet of people sounds except my own too-fast breathing and my friends.

"Can we move yet?” Sigmun asked, just a little quieter than normal.

“I think we’re safe,” Simonn said.

“My mother is going to kill me,” I realized, trying not to panic.

“We have just escaped certain enslavement and likely death and you’re worried about your mother?” Sigmun asked.

“Well, it’s reasonable enough,” I said.

“Fair point,” Simonn agreed. “Let’s go. The sun will dry us off.”

“With any luck,” Sigmun agreed. “Clearing?”

“Yeah.”

The three of us walked to the clearing and lied in the sun until we all had to head home. That was too close for comfort. I wish we didn’t have to run.

 

23 July 1613

Less than one month. I can’t wait. I just want to get out.

 

24 July 1613

Dolora made me tea today and stayed at home until I’d drunk the whole cup.

“Dear, would you like to stay for dinner tonight?”

“I can’t. My mother is expecting me home.”

Dolora looked at me with that heavy worry in her eyes and said, “Alright, Dianna dear. But don’t be a stranger, come over for dinner soon. Alright?”

“Alright, I will.”

“And you can stay the night any time you like. You’re always welcome here.”

“Thanks, Dolora.”

“You’re welcome, dear.” She smiled and hugged me and then left for the market. It makes me want to cry when Dolora’s so kind to me, and I don’t even know why. It’s like I’m her daughter, and I don’t know why she bothers.

 

25 July 1613

Today we were climbing a tree that I suppose we’re now too big for when Simonn stepped on a branch and it snapped underneath him. I heard him scream something rather rude and fall on his back on the ground.

“Simonn?” Sigmun shouted down. “Are you alright?”

“Oh yes, I’m having a fabulous time down here,” Simonn said, his voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. “Just peachy.”

“Hold on a second,” I said, climbing down from the the tree. I landed next to him and then said, “Are you broken?”

“Not sure…” He shook his head and sat up. “Well, that was fun.”

“Jeez, are you sure you’re okay?” Sigmun asked, landing next to me.

“I’m fine, just give me a minute to sit up.” Simonn sat up and cast his gaze around the forest. “You know what, I think sitting inside sounds like a good idea.”

“Alright. Let’s go.” Sigmun and I helped Simonn back to the house and read for the rest of the day. Simonn seemed alright, and I certainly trust that he’ll speak up if he’s properly hurt.

 

26 July 1613

Tea again, of course. It’s always tea these days, what with the heaviness of existing on my shoulders. I never thought just being could take so much energy.

 

27 July 1613

I’m so tired these days. I don’t know why, either, but I bet it’s Mother. I know that I should just leave, but…

Anyways, I’ll be free soon.

 

28 July 1613

I was sick again today. I made it to Sigmun and Dolora’s, but once I got there, I started vomiting and I couldn’t breathe and my throat was burning and even though my whole body hurt, I almost felt detached from the whole thing, even from my own body. And at once I also feel tense and irritable and just so tired, all the time. Funny enough, I haven’t been having as many of my very good dreams recently. Usually, when my nightmares get really awful, my good dreams or my very good dreams kick in to compensate.

I still hate the nightmares.

Oh, and we studied physics today. We’re getting close to the end of that massive physics book Simonn loves so much.

 

29 July 1613

It occurs to me that by every standard of family that I know of, my mother isn’t my mother as much as Dolora is. Though I know that most mothers sometimes hit their children, I also know that in the end, most parents would rather see their children succeed than fail, even for their own selfish reasons. My mother would rather see me fail and I think she doesn’t want me around. She acts like I’m the biggest mistake she ever made. But Dolora always treats me nicely, like I’m a person worth respect or even kindness. Even when I was little and I still had big dreams, before I knew what the world expects of women, she told me I could do anything I wanted to do. She told me that I could write books if I wanted to, back when my dream was to write adventure novels. I wish my blood parents had given me to her instead of Mother.

I have less than a month until I can escape.

 

30 July 1613

It is strange to realize that I have three families, and each of them has changed my life, and that only one of them I consider my real family.

We read a novel today and I was just so tired and I couldn’t seem to concentrate. I can never seem to concentrate these days, even on something as simple as knitting.

 

31 July 1613

The wasps are out again. I hate wasps so much. When I was eight, one got tangled in my hair and managed to sting me twice before I got it out. I remember Dolora had to comb through my hair three time to get the stinger out. Simonn loves bees and I think he’s crazy for it, but he says they’re very important for farming and since that’s his family business (even after Simonn’s grandfather lost the family farm and his father went to work at John Peters’s farm), I suppose it makes some sense.

Anyways, we’ve been avoiding the berry patches. Two-thirds of us can’t stand wasps.

 

1 August 1613

Twenty-two days. Or twenty-one, depending on how you look at it. I’d prefer to think twenty-one.

 

2 August 1613

Twenty days. I feel like I’m stuck in those few seconds before some huge catastrophe, the way they count down from five before they fire a cannon and destroy whatever is in the cannonball’s path. I suppose that it will be a catastrophe. It will certainly be explosive, that much is a guarantee. And yet still I worry.

Of course I do; I have no choice.

 

3 August 1613

Nineteen days. My mother has been drinking even more and yelling more and my whole body aches from her bottles and her blows. I’ve taken to wearing my winter shirts and skirts to cover the bruises and cuts. I don’t want my friends worrying.

 

4 August 1613

Eighteen days. My counting down (countdown? Is that a word?) continues.

We went to the river and went swimming today, but even the lightness of the water and breathlessness of ducking below the surface couldn’t make me forget like it normally does.

 

5 August 1613

Seventeen days. Two weeks and three days. I just want this to be over.

I wonder what it will feel like to live alone. I wonder what it will be like to fall asleep in an empty house, eat dinner with myself, sew in silence, clean the house without a background of anger and fear blending into some sort of vile, toxic stew. At least I’ll be able to keep the place clean.

 

6 August 1613

Sixteen days. I feel like a child waiting anxiously for Christmas, except with the emotions utterly inverted and twisted.

I’d rather not write about my fights with Mother anymore. I don’t want to make myself relive them.

 

7 August 1613

Fifteen days. Just two weeks and one day.

I think today was the worst fight yet. She and I were both screaming and yelling and I almost wanted to hit her back, but I’m so afraid and I don’t like hurting people. But we were fighting with words as our weapons and I think they were sharper than any broken glass she used to slash open crimson cuts in my side.

I wish I didn’t have to ask Dolora to stitch my cuts. I don’t want her to worry.

 

8 August 1613

Fourteen days. Two weeks precisely. It’s strange to think that while I’ve never dreaded my birthday quite so much, I simply cannot wait until I am free.

We picked berries today, careful to avoid the wasps and the mosquitoes. Dolora picked out the ones she’d need for preserves and then told us to have the rest with milk and sugar. I love berries with milk and sugar and the sweetness was a welcome change from the taste of blood and the smell of vomit so strong I think I can taste it.

 

9 August 1613

Thirteen days. I still don’t know who this Jennet Mother hates so much is.

We sat by the creek today and when I wasn’t paying attention, Sigmun came up behind me and tapped my shoulder and I screamed because I’ve been so jumpy lately.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?”

“I’m fine. You just scared me, is all.”

“If you’re sure…”

“Of course I’m sure,” I said, trying for a fake grin.

“Wow, that was the least genuine smile I’ve ever seen,” Sigmun said. He knows me too well. “What’s this?” he asked, pointing to a bruise on my hand. “For that matter, what’s with the winter clothes? It’s August, for heaven’s sake.”

“It’s nothing. The only clean clothes I have,” I bluffed.

“Dianna…”

“I’m fine, jeez. Can you just leave it be?!”

“Alright, alright. I’m just asking.” Sigmun stood and crossed the creek to where Simonn was examining pebbles the way he does. But I’m sure he knew. How could he not?

 

10 August 1613

Twelve days. Less than two weeks.

I feel as though I’m barely holding onto my sanity. I’m just so upset and so tired and so angry it’s not fair, it’s not fair! I just want to feel safe in my own house. Is that too much to ask for?

 

11 August 1613

Eleven days. It feels like an eternity.

We read a novel today by the creek today and it was nice, the warm sunlight and the cool water and the soothing words. I find words more soothing than anything else, except my friends. There’s just something about words.

 

12 August 1613

Ten days. How long each hour seems as I approach the end of these years of fear.

 

13 August 1613

Nine days. Just a little more than a week.

Mother keeps calling me the biggest mistake of her life and I wish I didn’t mess everything up. I think they’d all be better off without me. Sigmun would find some other girl who’d be a better wife than me, and Dolora wouldn’t have to worry about me, and Simonn wouldn’t have my stupid friendly affections to deal with. I doubt my friendship means to them what theirs does to me. I doubt my ridiculous feelings mean anything at all.

 

14 August 1613

Eight days. Eight long, endless days.

I wish I had a proper mother. I wish I lived with Dolora so I could feel safe when I sleep. I wish I could to someone when I had nightmares. I wish, I wish, I wish, but I never receive.

 

15 August 1613

Seven days. One week precisely.

I have a sense that Dolora is angry with my mother, despite never having met her, and I find this minorly befuddling. How can you be angry with someone you’ve never even met? The reason I think that is because whenever I mention my mother, she sighs that irritated sigh and clenches one of her fists. How strange.

 

16 August 1613

Six days. It’s too long and at once too short.

I’m starting to feel nervous about this. What if my mother actually hurts me or what if she strangles me again? I hate not being able to breathe more than anything else. What if I don’t make it out of my house on my birthday or ever again?

I’m scared.

 

17 August 1613

Five days. Less than a week.

My hair’s been a rat’s nest lately. I need to brush it, but I just don’t have the willpower. I’d ask Dolora, but I don’t want to burden her any more than I already do. I don’t even mean to. I don’t want to be a burden, yet I am, and that’s making all this guilt so much worse. I mess everything up. My parents’ marriage, my mother’s life, my birth parents, my friends, my loved ones…I’m such a mess.

 

18 August 1613

Four days. I feel sick.

I haven’t been so hungry recently and even though Sigmun and Simonn make me eat dinner, I don’t eat much at supper or breakfast. I just don’t feel like eating. And I’ve been forgetting to chew mint leaves before bed, which means my breath always tastes horrible in the mornings. At least I remember the mint leaves then.

 

19 August 1613

Three days. Three days to freedom or doom.

Oh, that sounds melodramatic. But it’s true. She’ll either kill me or leave. I suppose death would be a sort of freedom, but I don’t want to die. Though I’m sure they don’t need me the way I need them, I couldn’t stand to leave the ones I love. I’m not going to die; I won’t let Mother kill me. I’ll fight her tooth and nail until I escape.

 

20 August 1613

Two days. Just two days until I’m free from my mother, one way or another.  

 

21 August 1613

Tomorrow. I’m dreading it, and yet, I can’t wait. I want to be free and yet I fear freedom.

I suppose I don’t really have a choice.

 

22 August 1613

Bloody hell. What a day.

Today, when I woke up, I realized I was eighteen and I still hadn’t gotten married (obviously), so I prepared myself for a fight. Mother was furious, unsurprisingly.

“GET DOWN HERE!”

I sighed and shouted, “GIVE ME A DAMN MOMENT, I’M NOT EVEN DRESSED!” I didn’t listen to her grumbling while I laced up my bodice and did everything I normally do in the morning. (I don’t sleep in my bodice. It’s uncomfortable and Dolora says it’s bad for you.)

Anyways, I went downstairs and ate breakfast and kept turning over what I’d say in my head. I had to say something to refute her.

She didn’t say anything until about eight, when I was going to leave for Sigmun and Dolora’s.

“Come here. Right now.”

I sighed, braced myself, and turned around. “What the hell do you want?”

“You have to get married. You know it.”

“I don’t want to!”

“You’re so useless! You’re hopeless! No one will ever want to love you! Your only chance is to make a respectable marriage and you know it!”

“You don’t know anything! There is someone who loves me and we’re going to get married!”

“You rotten liar! Men can’t love women the way we love them! They use women and throw them out like old shoes! Don’t kid yourself, you stupid girl!”

“I am eighteen years old, Mother! And I’ve spent most of those years learning how to not depend on you or anyone else!”

“How could anyone even love you? You’re ugly, you try to be clever, you’re hopeless and useless and ungrateful and helpless and you’re outspoken and disobedient! No one will ever love you! You know what? Your father and I never wanted you! They paid us to take you in! They paid us! Your father was going to come home, he was going to stay home, you know that? My husband was going to stay here and we were going to be fine! Then that damn recession hit and we had to take you in and he had to go out trading. We were paid! And then he left and threw me aside like that man will to you!”

“Don’t you get it? I have people who love me and you just can’t stand that you’re heartbroken and I’m not going to be!”

“You’re an idiot! An absolute idiot! You’re a double-crossing, lying, two-faced failure of a daughter!”

“You’re not my mother! You didn’t raise me!”

“Yes I did! I made you food and--”

“No you didn’t! You hardly gave me enough to survive! You know that crazy apothecary you called a witch? She raised me! And she raised me better than you ever did!”

“You’re rotten to the core! You’re ugly and horrible and if you ever find anyone who’ll even try to care about you, they’ll be gone before you can say I do!”

“I hate you! Why do you do this to me?”

“Because it’s true! I’ve never told you a lie, unlike you!”

“You lied to me when you said you were my mother! You’re not my mother and I sure as hell am not your daughter!”

“Then get out! Get out of my house! You don’t belong here and you never have!”

“I never want to see you again!”

“THEN GET THE HELL OUT!”

“FINE!” I stormed out and I ran to Sigmun and Dolora’s and once I got there, I collapsed on the floor and started sobbing. I don’t even know why. I never loved Mother, and I still don’t love her, and I don’t regret that I’ll never see her again. Well, maybe I do a little. I just feel a little bad for her, that she feels so used and unloved. It doesn’t justify anything, of course, but I feel bad for her.

But I won’t see her again. I won’t ever tell her that there was someone who at least felt something for her.

Anyways, I was sitting just inside the door, bawling my eyes out, and Dolora came over to me with a cup of tea and said, “Happy birthday, Dianna dear.”

I took the tea and I must’ve looked so stupid, like a three-year-old who doesn’t know how to lace up her shoes yet. “Thanks, Dolora.”

“Any time, dear.” She held out her hand to help me up and I took it gratefully because I was just so tired of all this, of always being angry and always being sad and always being so damn useless.

I curled up on the couch with the tea and a blanket and just sat there for a long time, because I was so heartsick I didn’t think I’d ever want to move again.

Dolora didn’t go into town today (I guess). Maybe she anticipated this. I heard her making something in the kitchen and then she walked into the library with a bowl of chicken soup and something sweet, a cookie or something. She sat next to me and said, “Dianna dear?”

“Hm?”

“Have something to eat. You look peaky.”

“Thanks, Dolora.”

“You’re welcome.”

I picked up the soup and tried to eat some of it, but my stomach felt sick, too. Dolora sat next to me for a while before she said, “Would you like to talk about it?”

“I…I guess so.” I didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I sipped some of the soup (it was very good). “I…it’s just…I…She never even wanted me!” I just blurted that, and I guess it’s because that was on my mind the most. “Neither of them did, they got paid to take me, no one ever wanted me! I was never supposed to be born! And then…and then…I’m still the same useless, worthless idiot I was yesterday except that now I don’t even have a mother or a father and…and she’s right, no one should love me, she’s always been right…I don’t deserve any of this, and I don’t deserve him or you and I certainly don’t deserve any of this, or anyone being so nice to me…and I know I shouldn’t hate her, but I can’t help it, and every time she’d try to get me to fit her mold of what I should be I can just tell she doesn’t love me, she’s never loved me, I don’t even know why she hates me so much. And I know Father doesn’t care about me, he doesn’t even know my name, and I don’t care about him either and I know it’s horrible but I just can’t do anything right and I can’t love them…I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t get food, or fabric, or anything else, and I’m going to starve to death…I’m going to starve because I can’t support myself, I’m so damn useless…” I started crying again and I felt Dolora hug me like she does when she knows I’m sad.

“Dianna dear, you don’t have to be what anyone else wants you to be. You have every right to your own thoughts. No one can punish you for what’s in your head. You’re not going to starve. You’re going to be able to find a job, and I will help you if you need it. And you certainly don’t have to love anyone who hurts you. You deserve love, Dianna dear. Alright?”

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure if I believed her or not.

“Look at me, Dianna.”

I did, and she said, “You are a smart, competent, kind, important, beautiful young woman. Anyone who tells you otherwise is wrong.” I nodded again, and she was so serious that I desperately wanted to believe her. It’s just so hard sometimes, to believe anything good about myself.

“Where’re Sigmun and Simonn?”

“In the market, running errands. You just worry about yourself now.”

I nodded again and she stood to do something, I don’t know what. I was so tired that I fell asleep on the couch, curled up like a child, and slept for three hours.

When I woke up, Sigmun was shaking me. “Dianna?”

“Mm.”

“Deedee, c’mon, wake up.”

“No.”

“I have something for you.”

“Better be good. I feel horrible.”

“That’s no way to feel on a birthday. Come on. It’ll be great, I promise.”

“Fine.”

He took my hand and led me behind a bookshelf. “Cover your eyes.” I did and a couple seconds later, he said, “Okay, open them.”

I opened my eyes and he was holding a stack of three books. “I got you some books…I thought you’d like these.”

“Really? You mean…to keep?”

“Mm-hmm. Happy birthday!”

“Thank you so much!” I threw my arms around him and hugged him close. I don’t know why, but I was such a mess that I’m not sure it really mattered. He stumbled a little and tried to hug me back, except that he was holding a stack of books.

I took the stack and noticed that the one on top was smaller, a journal. An empty one.

“A journal?”

“I thought you might need another one.”

“How’d you know I keep a journal?”

“You brought it with the city. Looked pretty worn. I thought you’d need a new one by now.” He shifted awkwardly, like he was nervous. I put the stack of books down on the bookshelf, cupped his cheek with one of my hands, and kissed him softly.

“So was it better than sleeping?” he asked once I broke away.

“Very much so.”

“Good.” He grinned and we walked to the kitchen, where Dolora was making dinner and Simonn was chopping carrots. “Hey, Dianna.”

“Hi, Simonn. How are you?”

“Eh. Got any ideas to get my parents to calm down about the fact that Isabella’s going to grammar school with Thomas and Robert and Richard?”

“No, sorry.”

“S’alright. How’re you?”

“Pretty miserable, come to think of it.”

“How come?”

“My mother stormed out today and I’m never going to see her again.”

“That sounds like a good thing.”

“Think again. She’s horrible and she was screaming again. Not even drunk this time.” I sighed and sat down. “Want any help?”

“It’s alright, dear,” Dolora said. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

I stayed for dinner, of course. Simonn gave me a whole penny, like with Sigmun, and some concoction he said his mother uses to keep her hair from getting tangled and he said it smelled like peppermint, so he thought it’d be nice. It’s stunning how well my friends know me.

I still don’t know what I’m going to do, though. I might stay over tonight if no one minds because I dread going back to that empty, cold house that’s never really been my home. I just so much prefer being at their house. It’s so nice being somewhere where I don’t have to worry for my safety and sanity every second.

 

23 August 1613

It stormed today, a huge and loud storm thick with thunder and rain and even though Sigmun said I was crazy, I went to stand in the rain because it was warm and lovely and it felt so good on my skin, making everything feel like it was manageable and even trivial. I could live in my world of light and sound and water for just a little while, escape everything Mother’s ever said and done, everything Father never did and should have done, everything people tell me about how to live my life, everything. I love storms. I love letting the world just be light and sound, no things or people to deal with. As much as I love Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora, and as much as I want to spend time with them, I like letting it all go because then I can let go of Mother, too.

It’s always temporary, but it leaves me feeling refreshed because I inevitably see those I love right after a storm and then all I have to think about is them and myself and no one else. I like freedom; I don’t think I’ll ever crave it any less.

And it’s over now. I’m free from my mother forever.

It’s incredible how light I feel.

 

24 August 1613

I stayed over at Sigmun and Dolora’s last night because I didn’t want to go back and see my house so empty and cold. I just couldn’t stand it. But I have to head back today. I have to go back to my empty house and just live with it. I’ll need to find a real job. Or sell the silver or something (but I’d rather save that for an emergency). Maybe Mother stashed some money somewhere I can dig up and use. I’m going to need to support myself, probably even after I get married if I do marry Sigmun. He’ll have trouble finding a job, I know it. People wouldn’t want to hire someone illegitimate, which I think is crazy.

Dolora gave me a container of tea and a teacup to take home. She said it’s a birthday present. I’m very thankful for that; my house might not feel so cold. She also told me to take a book or two home. So I added one of hers to the two Sigmun gave me and resolved to bring it back in a week. Books will be nice to have; they’ll make my now-empty house feel more like home.

 

25 August 1613

I slept reasonably well last night, despite a still constant stream of nightmares. I think just knowing that I’m safer than I have been in years gives me some sense of lightness. And I’ve just been feeling so good since that thunderstorm and since Mother left. I wonder if it’s a temporary relief, or if this will last. I hope it lasts.

 

26 August 1613

I still feel pretty damn good today and it’s almost disorienting because I haven’t felt good like this since…actually, I can’t remember the last time I felt like this. How odd.

Anyways, we went swimming in the river and it was lovely because I felt like I was floating and I don’t get to feel light all that often and this time, the weightlessness and the breathlessness made me forget.

 

27 August 1613

I’m out of food and it occurs to me that I am quite good at hunting, though I haven’t been able to practice much recently. I think I still have a bow and arrows. I could hunt for my food instead of getting a job. My reflexes must have gotten better from my mother and I know I am relatively agile. This might work!

We went to the creek today and ate berries and sat in the sun and I felt so wonderfully light and free and alive and I’ve never felt so good in my life. And Simonn left early to walk his siblings home from school, so I stayed by the creek with Sigmun and I kissed him like I do and it felt wonderful.

 

28 August 1613

Today Dolora had me sit down and she brushed out my hair with that peppermint oil concoction Simonn gave me and even though it took forever, my hair looks the best it ever has, all shiny and clean and lovely. My hair looks healthy, if that makes sense. When sick people stumble to Dolora’s door because no other doctor will treat them when they have no money, their hair always looks thin and ill, like the illness of their bodies is everywhere. My hair has looked like that for the past few months and now it’s already looking full and healthy again.

I think today I smiled for real for the first time in at least a month.

 

29 August 1613

Feeling good is so alien. Feeling unafraid is even stranger. I feel like I am a stranger to myself, all full of feelings I haven’t felt in years. That knot of resentment and worry and dread in my chest that makes breathing so hard seems to be slackening somewhat and I didn’t even realize I was holding my breath quite so literally. I’ve even been tying my bodice looser because my breath seems to take up more space in my chest.

I didn’t realize how tight the knot in my chest was until it started to loosen.

 

30 August 1613

Dolora asked me a whole bunch of questions today about how I’m taking care of myself. She asked me what I usually eat for breakfast and supper and everything and if I chew mint leaves before bed and if I sleep with my bodice on and all sorts of questions about my health like that. She usually does that once a year and nothing changes. I still would never wear my bodice to sleep and I still eat the same things I spend my days the same way and I am utterly dull and uninteresting as ever. The only defining qualities I can think of for myself are that I can read and write and that I can climb trees fairly well.

I wonder if someday I might define myself as something more.

 

31 August 1613

I’m still alive. How strange. I didn’t think I’d still be alive. I didn’t think I’d ever see the other side of my eighteenth birthday. It’s strange; what am I now? So much of my life has been about my war with my mother that I’m not quite sure what I’ll do with my time now. Without her, I can be part of my real family. I can let my old family and my blood family go and be part of that family.

I never thought cutting something out of my life could feel so good.


	16. Hearts And How They May Be Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simonn and Hannah continue the romantic meoldrama. Dianna's suspicions about Hannah grow. Sigmun can be an idiot sometimes. And an old birdcage is nothing nice to have around the house.

1 September 1613

Sigmun was looking at me funny today so I asked him what it was and he said I looked really different, like I did when we were younger.

“What? How do I look younger?”

“No, I mean, more…” He paused and considered his words for a minute. “You look less burdened. You know how adults always look, a little tired as if they’re carrying something unbearably heavy. You don’t look so much like an adult.”

“Thanks, I suppose.”

“I meant it as a good thing. Call me crazy, but I was really worried about you.”

“That’s nice to know.”

“I’ve always wondered, how old do I look?”

“You look more like a child than an adult. Certainly by your standards.”

“What are your standards?”

“Children are nicer and more innocent than adults. The more you know about the world, the more of an adult you are.”

“Then I was already growing up when I was three!”

“And I was when I was seven.”

“But if I look like a child to you, then I must be somewhat ignorant of the world, right?”

“You’re kind enough to still be more of a child.”

“So would you say you’re still a child or more an adult?”

“I can say I’d rather be a child but I’m probably more of an adult. I live on my own, for heaven’s sake.”

“I think you’re more of a child, to be honest.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’re much kinder than an adult. Besides Mama and a few adults like her. I think you’re too kind to ever really be an adult.”

“Me too. I think most people would say you’re younger than you are.”

“Why?”

“You know a lot more than you let on around people.”

“Do I really not let on that much?”

“I doubt anyone who’d meet you on the street would know about your blood family. They’d probably think Dolora was your blood mother.”

“Oh.” Pause. “You think so?”

“I do.”

“So what do you think being an adult really is? Knowing, or being kind, or not being burdened?”

“I think it’s all three, but it’s greater than the sum of its parts.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Just then, Simonn opened the door and wandered in. “Sorry I’m late. Richard and Thomas got in a fight over who had to feed the chickens. What’s going on?”

“We’re defining adulthood.”

“You mean the age?”

“No.”

“Meaning?”

“We’ve decided that adulthood is knowing about the world, not being kind, and being burdened, except it is more than the sum of its parts,” Sigmun said. “So far.”

“Then I must be a boring adult.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “You’re too kind to be an adult. Like Sigmun.”

“You realize that when it comes to being an adult, all of us meet at least one of the criteria?”

“More than the sum of the parts.”

“But really! I have responsibility. So do you, Deedee. And you both know a lot about the world, probably more than I, the reclusive awkward science enthusiast, do.”

“Wow, pessimistic much?” I said.

“What’s wrong with being an adult? It happens to everyone. If the whole world was full of children, we’d never have anyone to take care of the practical matters. No one would think about physics or medicine or history. We wouldn’t be having this discussion.”

“There’s one way to look at it.”

“Hey, I’d rather be a child. My parents grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into adulthood when they realized there is no way to care for four under-tens and hold a regular job without getting someone to take care of the children.”

“You’re lucky that way. My blood mother apparently never wanted me to reach adulthood,” Sigmun shrugged. 

“My mother decided she’s going to shove me into adulthood and then leave so I have no way to leave one foot in childhood long enough to figure out adulthood,” I added. 

“I hope I’m not like that when I’m a parent,” Simonn said.

“I don’t think you’ll be like that,” I said. “You’re kind of a parent already.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“I’ll try not to.”

“I reckon Mama’s more of an adult for finding me,” Sigmun said, and there was this strange sort of regret in his voice. “I wish that wasn’t true.”

“It’s not your fault. I think your birth mother wasn’t terribly good at being an adult, personally,” I said. “I mean, adults have to take more responsibilities and she obviously didn’t. She could’ve at least tried to give you to someone.”

“I can’t say I regret my childhood!”

“That’s not what I mean! I mean she didn’t take responsibility for you like she should’ve. Your blood father was probably even worse, leaving her like that. He just abandoned his responsibilities and left your blood mother to shoulder all of it.”

“My parents were basically horrible adults and parents, is what you’re saying.”

“I guess so…”

“Well, I have to say I agree,” Sigmun sighed. “Simonn’s got the best blood parents of any of us.”

“They hardly know I exist.”

“At least they take responsibility for you. They feed you and clothe you and everything. My mother only let me buy things if they were also for her. My father likes to pretend I don’t exist,” I pointed out.

“So are we adding responsibility to our list of Adult Criteria?”

“I guess so,” Sigmun said. “But really, why do people lose their kindness when they become adults?”

“I think it’s not about being kind,” Simonn said. “I think it’s about being sad.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I mean, my mother’s the way she is because she’s sad.”

“That’s not a justification,” Sigmun said. “She’s still mean.”

“Yeah, but it does rather explain why adults are the way they are,” Simonn said.

“But Dolora’s sad, and she’s kind,” I pointed out.

“How do you know she’s sad?” Simonn asked.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” I said. “You can see it in her eyes.”

“Why would Dolora be sad?” Simonn asked.

“A lot of reasons. She’s an adult,” Sigmun said.

“Well, I mean, we didn’t meet any of your family besides that Aunt Matilda in the city…” I said.

“What about her parents?” Simonn asked Sigmun.

“They don’t talk to her. The rest of her family doesn’t, either,” Sigmun said.

“Why not?” I asked. I thought they might be like my mother. 

“Because…”Sigmun looked uncomfortable. “They all think she gave birth to me. And she never got married, so…” He shrugged. I can’t believe they think that Dolora is Sigmun’s blood mother. How could they fail to notice her being pregnant?

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“It’s alright,” Sigmun shrugged. “I mean, I never even met them. It’s not like I can miss them.”

“You can miss the idea of them, though,” Simonn pointed out. “I never met my grandparents, but I kind of wish I had.”

“I’m fine with just Mama and then you guys.”

“What?” Simonn asked.

“Well, if I’m talking about family, I’d say you two and Mama are my family. And I guess Aunt Matilda, but I never see her.”

Simonn shrugged. “I never thought about it that way.”

“You have a blood family, though,” I pointed out.

“So?”

“You have a family. I don’t,” I said simply. “If everyone who was related to me by blood disappeared, I’d still have my family. Same with Sigmun.”

“What, is that a bad thing?” Simonn snapped.

“No, I just mean…I think it’s easier to figure out who your real family is when your blood family is a bit harder to have. You’re lucky.”

“I guess.” Simonn shrugged again. “I get double the family. Double the worrisome parents.”

“Double the siblings to deal with?”

“You don’t count as ‘dealing with’. But I would say I have an overabundance in the siblings department.”

I laughed and said, “I’d love to have siblings. My house is lonely these days.”

“Call me crazy, but isn’t that better than the alternative?” Simonn asked.

“Much. But it’s still lonely.”

Sigmun reached for my hand from where he was lying on the floor and said, “For whatever it’s worth, I doubt you’ll live there forever.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, think about it. No one lives in the same house for their whole life. You’ll probably move at some point.”

“Optimistic.”

“True.”

“Thanks.”

“Wait, so, returning to previous topics of conversation, do you think if a child takes responsibility for something, would he or she be an adult?”

“I don’t reckon so,” I said. “Only because they’d still be innocent and happy and all that. I still say adulthood is greater than the sum of its parts.”

“Greater than the sum of responsibility, sadness, loss of innocence, and being burdened? What else is there?”

“No, I mean that I feel like there’s some quality of adulthood that doesn’t really have a name that goes along with the rest of them.”

“Adultiness?” Simonn suggested.

“That works,” I said.

“Speaking of,” Sigmun said. “Mama asked if we’d find willow and a few other of her herbs today.”

So we went and collected the herbs and I wasn’t kidding about my house feeling lonely, but I’d like to think I’ll live with Sigmun some day. I doubt my house will feel lonely forever.

 

2 September 1613

The leaves were lovely today. It’s been years since I’ve stopped to look at the leaves. I wish I could draw. If I could draw, I would draw piles and piles of pictures of the leaves and the river and the creek and the clearings and the berry patches and Dolora’s house and my house and my friends and just everything.

I know I write to keep my memories. I wonder if Simonn draws his memories. I know Sigmun speaks them. I wonder what Dolora does with her memories? She doesn’t talk much about her past. I wonder how she met Rose. I wonder what she did in school, when she met her friends. I know everything about most of my friends’ childhoods, especially Sigmun and Simonn. But I have always wondered about Dolora’s childhood.

 

3 September 1613

Today we crossed the bridge and I noticed every leaf on every tree and every twig and every blade of grass and every dandelion and every berry on the nightshade plants. I never realized how much I was missing by being locked in with my mother.

 

4 September 1613

Today we went into the village and talked to Hannah and Mariek. Mariek had this funny look on her face, a little bit lost, like she was missing a little piece of her that wasn’t quite big enough to recognize, but just big enough to miss. I think it’s because Neolla’s been gone. Mariek and Neolla always seemed to depend on each other’s companionship, and I wonder if Neolla feels the same way.

Hannah was wearing her winter clothes today and either she’s feeling the cold early or her father is as bad as my mother. I hate to say it, but I suspect the later.

 

5 September 1613

A year ago today, I was still trapped with my mother. I was relying on letters to keep my sanity. I was ill and tired and sad and angry and resentful. How much changes in a year.

 

6 September 1613

The sky was beautiful today. The sunrise was gorgeous and the daytime sky was bluer than the ocean and the sunset was absolutely radiant. I haven’t appreciated the sunrise in ages, or the sunset for that matter.

 

7 September 1613

I was getting ready today and I noticed myself in the small mirror I keep in my room (it’s an heirloom) and I look so much more alive. I used to have those dark marks under my eyes and my cheeks looked hollow and my lips thin. I used to have thinning hair and worryingly pale skin marked by bruises and cuts. I used to look half-dead. But now my skin is less ghostly and more skin-colored and my cheeks are pink and filled out. My hair looks thick and curly again and my lips don’t look so thin and pale. I just look less like a ghost and more like a person. I don’t know why I never appreciated how nice it can feel to be alive.

 

8 September 1613

We went to the creek today and sat with our feet in the water, plucking and eating the last berries of the season. Sigmun and Simonn were both smiling and I never quite realized how striking Simonn’s eyes are when you’re paying attention. I also never realized that the daylight makes Sigmun’s face look a little older, the shadows catching his cheekbones and the light catching the little hairs on his chin. I like all these things I’ve been noticing now that I’m not spending all my energy surviving.

 

9 September 1613

I forget sometimes how much I love my friends. It’s like a huge ache inside, but it doesn’t hurt. Today, while we were sitting in the clearing full of forget-me-nots, I noticed Sigmun and Simonn smiling and nothing makes me happier than seeing my friends happy. I just started laughing aloud and I’m sure I sounded insane, but they started laughing too. Relief is so wonderful. And it was genuine laughter, not the forced kind born of trying too hard to smile. Seeing and hearing them so happy made me feel even lighter, even better than I already have been.

 

10 September 1613

We were in the village today and I realized how colored our eyes all our, Hannah’s chocolate-brown and Mariek’s cerulean and my olive and Dolora’s jade green and Sigmun’s russet and Simonn’s two different colors, cornflower and chestnut. Maybe that’s a strange thing to notice, but I’ve been noticing a lot of things recently. I noticed how Mariek was chewing the skin of her upper lip when she was distracted, and I noticed how Hannah kept tugging her sleeves down and glancing at Simonn, and I noticed how Sigmun was sitting with his arms resting at his sides, all open and honest. And Simonn was crossing and uncrossing his arms like he was nervous, presumably because of Hannah.

Dolora looked so painfully happy when she saw us today. I wonder if she is as relieved as I am, because I recognize the feeling that colors her face these days.

 

11 September 1613

A letter came today from Neolla. She said she was doing fine and even though school was hard, she was enjoying it and she’d made friends. She said she shared her room with four boys, Jonathan and David and Jacob and Dirk, and they were nice enough and good friends and they all were working for different degrees. I hope she’s enjoying herself.

We wrote back (I did the writing) telling her about the news here, which isn’t much. It felt strange to address the letter to Nelson Redglare, but putting her real name would cause a lot of trouble.

 

12 September 1613

Today we stayed by the creek all day and read. Sigmun sprawled on the grass and I sat on my knees next to him, kind of playing with his hair, and Simonn sat on the log with his feet in the water. Sigmun’s been napping more and more and I wonder if he’s been having dreams like I used to. 

 

13 September 1613

We went to the village again today and I kept staring at Simonn to try to get him to talk to Hannah, but he didn’t say anything and then later he reminded me I said October, not September. I know that, but I told him the sooner the better, once it was over with he’d feel much better. He rolled his eyes at me, but he knew I was right. Just like I know he was right. 

Today Mariek and Hannah and I sat together and talked and I know Hannah must be keeping secrets. I’m torn between getting her to tell and leaving it be. It would be better for her to tell; I know that much. But I don’t want to force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do, especially knowing how shy Hannah is. 

Someone once told me life is made of circles. This is certainly the most ironic circle of my life so far. 

 

14 September 1613

Dolora’s been helping me feed myself while I find my bow and arrows and (once I find them) practice my aim. I’m so grateful for her. I owe her so much, after everything she’s done for me. I know a lot of people in my situation aren’t nearly as lucky as I am. 

 

15 September 1613

I still can’t find that bow and arrows. I wonder where they’ve gone? I hope Mother didn’t take them with her for her own twisted reasons. I don’t know why she would, but in her distorted mind, anything can make sense. I’m worried I won’t be able to feed myself now. I don’t want to starve again. 

 

22 September 1613

Nothing much has been happening, so I haven’t felt the need to write all that much. I still haven’t found the bow and arrows. Simonn still hasn’t told Hannah, and Hannah is still as skittish as ever about telling Simonn. Mariek still seems a little lost without Neolla, and Neolla’s letters make it sound like she’s a little lost, too. Sigmun’s still very sweet and very kind, and I’m still very grateful for him, and for all my friends, really. 

 

23 September 1613

I looked in the mirror again and I did my hair up and tied it with a ribbon and I’m quite happy with how it turned out. I’ve always liked my hair better than the rest of me and I like how it made my face look and I never thought I’d like the way I look. But I went to their house and Sigmun said I looked lovely and Simonn asked how long it took to do my hair like that. He sounded impressed. All this time my mother had been getting worse, I’d stopped noticing the tics in their voices, the way Simonn’s hand moves just so when he’s drawing something and doesn’t like it but he won’t give up, the particular gleam in Sigmun’s eye when he suggests swimming, the exact way Dolora’s dress swishes when she stands up in a particular sort of hurry. I like noticing things about people and I’m so glad I’m free enough to notice again. 

Simonn’s going to draw another picture of us in November. He says he wants to do it every year, see how we get older until we’re all fifty-five and die. I didn’t mention that Dolora’s going to be fifty-five before we are and unless she lives to be very old, she’s going to die before us, mostly because that makes me sad, too. And a straightforward sort of sad, too. Not that twisted, angry sort of sadness surrounding my mother. 

It’s very strange to think that a day will come when I will wake up and there will be no one left who I consider my parent. 

 

24 September 1613

Is it really possible that I’ve been keeping a journal for more than two years? How odd. I’m glad Sigmun gave me a new one, because I only have a few pages left in this one. He’s very observant, to notice my journal. Or perhaps I just haven’t been paying attention after everything that’s been going on with my mother. Thank heaven that’s over with. I’ll never have to worry about her again. 

I still wonder, though, about all those people whose names she called me by. Especially Jennet. That was one of the ones she called me the most. Who was Jennet? For that matter, why did my mother hate her so much? Why did Mother hate any of those people so much? She never yelled any surnames, so I don’t even know if they were family or what. Her maiden name was Smith, so anyone with the name Smith could theoretically be my blood family. 

 

26 September 1613

Only two nightmares last night. Quite the improvement. 

 

27 September 1613

I reminded Simonn that he has just one month to tell Hannah today and he gave me a look that could kill. Sigmun snorted, trying not to laugh, and then he took my hand and whispered, “I’m really glad he made us tell each other.”

“Me too.”

And really, I am. 

 

29 September 1613

I’m glad it’s cooling down; I don’t like the dog days of summer. I like fall the best. I like the crisp flavor of the air, the beautiful angle of the light through the painted leaves, the cool breeze that makes my skirt and my hair flutter like butterfly wings. I feel so good these days and it’s stunning that it’s only been a month since Mother left. 

I worry that I won’t be able to find my bow and arrows. It’s silly, but I’m worried. 

And I asked Hannah today who she loved, and she said, “Simonn, still.”

“You could tell him.”

“No, I can’t.”

“Alright…”

One more month. 

 

30 September 1613

Poor Simonn. I don’t know what he’ll do now.

Today, we went to the village and while I was talking with Hannah and Mariek, Sigmun and Simonn wandered by and I could tell Simonn was working up the courage to talk to Hannah. I dragged Mariek away and told them we had to go home and then I told Sigmun I had to stop at the fabric store and would he come with me.

So Simonn and Hannah went off on their own and then Sigmun and I went back to his house, where I spend most of my time these days anyways.

About half an hour later, Simonn opened the door, slammed it behind him, and then lied face-down on the couch.

“Simonn?” I asked.

He mumbled something, but I couldn’t hear what it was because his face was buried in the couch

“I can’t hear you, your face is in the couch.”

“You lied.”

“About what?”

“You said she loved me. You said it was a sure thing.”

“It was. It is. What happened?”

“She said she could never love me back, what the hell else?”

“I’m going to make tea,” Sigmun said. He’s more like Dolora than he realizes. I hope it’s not the same with Mother and I.

“Simonn, what happened?”

“I said what you all said I should, I told her I loved her and I thought she was clever and kind and beautiful and funny and all that. I had that whole damn speech practically planned to the letter. And she just said she was sorry, but she couldn’t love me, not ever. All blunt like that. Ugh, I’m such a failure.”

“Simonn, it’s not your fault. It’s no one’s fault.” But I was confused. Hannah told me herself that she loved him. Why hadn’t she told him? Had she changed her mind? I find it unlikely, considering that breathless look on her face last time I asked her. I know it takes a long time to recover from that kind of love, if at all. If she doesn’t love Simonn anymore, I don’t know what we can do to help him, besides hope that time heals. I’m not going to force love; that never works.

Anyways, Sigmun brought tea and Simonn only drank a few sips before he just lied on the couch and stared at the ceiling.

“I never thought a heart could hurt so much,” Simonn said. “Useless things, hearts.”

“That’s pessimistic.”

“It’s true. Without a heart, none of this ever would have happened.”

“Without a heart, you’d never have met any of us or cared for your siblings or anything. We’d all be dead if none of us had hearts.”

“I don’t care. Hearts are overrated.”

“I’ll talk to Hannah, if you like. I know she loves you.”

“She just told me she didn’t, weren’t you listening?”

“I was.”

“Then what’s the point?!”

“The point is that she loves you and I know it! She told me!”

“Oh.”

“Oh is right. Maybe she’s changed her mind, but I think there’s something else going on.”

“Thanks, I guess.”

“Any time.”

“You want to choose a book?” Sigmun asked.

“Principia, what else?” Simonn snapped. “I’ll read.”

“Fine,” Sigmun said, plucking the book of the shelf. “Have fun.”

So we read until it was almost dark out and Simonn dragged himself home, looking all sad and heartbroken. I’ll talk to Hannah tomorrow.

 

1 October 1613

We went to the village again today and Simonn tried unsuccessfully to hide behind Sigmun, except he’s so much taller than Sigmun that it was useless. But they left eventually and Hannah looked ill, so I asked her what was wrong because I had a sense it was the same thing that was bothering Simonn.

“Hannah, what’s wrong? You look ill.”

“N-Nothing…”

“I don’t believe that for a second. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

“I--I just…”

“Is this about Simonn?”

She nodded.

“Do you still love him?”

“Yes,” she said, that breathless look on her face again.

“Then why didn’t you tell him that?”

“Because my father said I have to marry a Jewish man.”

“My mother told me I had to get married before I turned eighteen, and yet here I am.”

“It’s different. My father…My father…” She choked a little and I thought she was going to cry.

“It’s alright, Hannah. It’s alright. Hey, just…let’s sit down.”

Hannah shrugged and she’d tensed up all her muscles like she was freezing cold. “I’m not allowed to love him.”

“Hannah, why the hell would you listen to your dad over what you want?” Mariek added. “He won’t be around your whole life. You know who you have to deal with for your whole life? You. So make your choices that way.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?” Mariek challenged.

“Because I can’t! That’s how it works with parents!”

Hannah looked very small just then. She always looks small. The thing about Hannah is that she’s taller than me, almost as tall as Mariek, but her demeanor makes her seem so much smaller.

“Why don’t you tell him that?” I suggested. “It might help get this off your chest. Anyways, he’s been moping around the house.”

“Oh,” Hannah said, looking guilty.

“No, I don’t mean--I didn’t mean it like that. Oh, Hannah, it’s alright--” She’d started crying and I’m starting to worry because even though Hannah and I aren’t similar in personality, I know exactly how it feels to carry around the weight of a parent who doesn’t love you and I worry I’m not the only one who knows.

“No, it’s not. My father won’t let me love him, and now it’s making him sad--”

“Hannah, jeez. There’s an obvious solution,” Mariek cut in. “Tell Simonn that you love him, but your father wants you to marry a Jewish man, so you and him can’t be together now. Maybe someday, though.”

“I’d like to marry him,” Hannah said shyly, blushing violently.

“Then tell him that and then…” I didn’t want to tell her to run away, but I also dread that her father might be like my mother and no one deserves that.

“Then what?”

“It might be best to live with someone other than your father,” I said carefully.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” I asked. “It’s what everyone said about my mother!”

Hannah’s face flushed with some emotion I know and can’t quite name. “I’m fine! I don’t need to leave!”

“I’ll take your word for it,” I said. “But feel free to leave, alright? Don’t trap yourself.”

“I’m not.”

“Alright,” I said doubtfully. But I didn’t want to press because I know how upset it can make you and I didn’t want to upset Hannah. It’s clear she’s on edge right now and I don’t want to make things worse for her.

Anyways, Simonn seemed a bit less mopey today and he said he was worried now because what sort of parent is her father, and was he like my mother, and what if--

So I told him he needed to calm down and she was fine and if he was really worried, he could just talk to her. Simonn’s clever and all, but I think he is a bit of a distracted-scientist type, the same way I suspect Hannah holds much more confidence that she knows she has.

 

2 October 1613

My dear distracted-scientist type friend was moping again today because he’s so cut up over this whole affair. I feel bad for the both of them. I know how a broken heart can hurt and I know how afraid a parent like my mother can make you. I want to get Hannah and her sisters out, but I don’t know how.

Oh, the irony.

 

3 October 1613

It was nice out today. I found my old bow and arrows, a gift from Father when I was fifteen and he thought I was eleven, and I practiced shooting at a knot in a tree. I still have pretty good aim, good enough to start hunting for my food, certainly. I’m so grateful for Dolora’s help with food. I owe her so much. When I’m older and I have a proper job, I’m going to pay her back for all this. 

 

4 October 1613

I practiced my aim again today with Sigmun and Simonn and I clearly have the best aim of us. I figure if I went hunting once or twice a week and kept up Mother’s garden (and weeded it and everything since she hasn’t done that in years), I could make stew once or twice a week and eat that. If I really want bread, I suppose I could trade some of my plants for some, or I could stay for dinner at Dolora and Sigmun’s. At least I know I won’t starve to death. 

 

5 October 1613

I tried to shoot a few animals today and I missed because they were moving too fast for me to catch. I’ll have to remember that next time I try. 

At any rate, I stayed for supper with Sigmun and Dolora. I want to cry sometimes because I’m just so grateful for everything Dolora does for me. Maybe that’s silly, but I feel empty inside sometimes from all Mother said that scooped out my insides and left me a shell. Feeling so full of love almost hurts after being hollow for so long. And being cared for as if I am someone worth something is just too much. I may not be my mother’s daughter, but I am certainly Dolora’s daughter and there is no better feeling in the world. 

 

6 October 1613

I had such a nightmare last night about being in a cage, a birdcage, and my mother wouldn’t let me out, even thought I couldn’t fit in the cage and it was killing me. I woke up and I couldn’t breathe, but at least I was alone. 

I might sell the empty birdcage my mother kept in her room. She said it was an heirloom from her grandmother. But I never like it. It always seemed lonely to me, a birdcage without a bird. It might help me buy the things I need. I need a new pair of boots, certainly. 

 

7 October 1613

Today while we were reading, Sigmun started falling asleep in the middle of this sentence, so I took the book from him and gave it to Simonn and I shifted so he was resting his head in my lap and he fell asleep like that, looking peaceful. He was so kind to me when I couldn’t sleep, when all my days were dark and heavy and painful, and I want him to feel the same relief because I like knowing he’s happy. I wonder what sorts of dreams he’s been having. 

 

9 October 1613

We were in the village today and I saw Simonn looking at Hannah and Hannah looking at Simonn, so I nudged Simonn and then said, “Hey, Simonn, we have to run errands while we’re here. How about you and Hannah go to the fabric store and Sigmun and I will go get food?”

“I have to head home anyways,” Mariek said. “Another man my mother wants me to meet.” 

“See you, then,” I said. We all waved goodbye and Sigmun and I went food shopping. 

“You did that on purpose.”

“I did.” 

“So hopefully they’ll sort themselves out and all this romantic drama I’ve been dealing with since I was twelve will be over, with any luck at all.”

“Pretty much.”

“That sounds really nice.” 

“No kidding.”

I hope it all works out. Apparently Simonn dropped off the fabric for bandages and then went home before Sigmun and I got there. 

 

10 October 1613

When Simonn came over today, he was grinning like a fool.

“What happened?”

“Nothing…”

“It’s Hannah, isn’t it? You two sorted everything out.”

“Yeah. She said that if she ever got out of her father’s house, we could maybe…” He blushed. “We could maybe…be together.” 

“That’s excellent!” I said. 

“Yeah.” He grinned again. “Let’s read Principia.”

“Alright.” 

I don’t think I’ve ever seen Simonn as more melodramatic than when he talks about Hannah. I suppose he just lets his guard drop about her. I think it’s sweet. 

 

11 October 1613

Today was Neolla’s birthday. I hope it’s going well for her at her school. 

 

13 October 1613

The weather’s been getting cooler. I like the colors of the leaves, and they’ve started falling. It’s hard to be quiet in the forest when there’re so many leaves, but practice has taught me well. 

I went hunting today and I almost got something. I think this is from when we were little and we’d play this game where we tried to throw sticks at each other while running. We stopped after Simonn got hit in the eye with one and Dolora had to put a warm compress over his eye for a day and a half. But aiming at moving things has never quite disappeared from my mind. 

 

16 October 1613

It was nice out today and I’m feeling inexplicably good. I stayed late and I had dinner with Dolora and Sigmun, but I also kissed Sigmun some and it felt so good like it always does. I hope he likes kissing me as much as I like kissing him. I don’t feel so bad about it, either, which is nice. 

 

18 October 1613

I got a squirrel today! I barely took out its leg and then from there I shot it again and I caught it. So I made stew (after I skinned it and everything), and it was quite good. I’m just really happy with how this is turning out, life without my mother. 

 

20 October 1613

I found a whole bunch of old bottles today and I emptied them all and rinsed them twice and then gave them to Dolora to use for medicines. I don’t ever want that sort of thing back in my life. 

 

21 October 1613

I’ve never been drunk and after this mess I don’t want to be. Sigmun and Simonn went to the pub after Dolora was asleep and I stayed up late reading because Dolora got a new adventure novel and it was excellent. I don’t want to go to the pub; I don’t need any more men harassing me. It must’ve been around midnight when Sigmun came home and he was drunk out of his mind, the absolute idiot.

He tripped on a chair that was pushed in and I rolled my eyes. “Hey, Dianna.” It was painfully obvious that he was trying to appear sober. I have enough experience with drunkenness that it didn’t work.

“Get to bed.”

“But why?” he asked, failing entirely to pull out a chair and sit in it.

“Because it’s past midnight, idiot.”

“I meant to do that…” he slurred. His eyes looked all red, like my mother’s used to get sometimes. “It is?”

“You’re drunk,” I said flatly. “Go to bed.”

“I’m not drunk!” he protested, trying to stand up and tripping on the chair again. “I meaned to do that…”

“I don’t care. You’re drunk as hell, and you’re talking so loud I’m surprised you haven’t woken Dolora up yet, and if you don’t get to bed soon I’ll leave and let you wake up on the floor.”

“You’re really pretty…”

“You’re an idiot,” I snapped. “Go. To. Bed.”

He tried to sit in the chair again, failed, and then instead sat on my chair and kissed me rather suddenly and sloppily. I shoved him away and said, “What the hell was that?”

“I thought you loved me…” He looked like he was about to start bawling.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you’re drunk out of your mind. It’s different.”

“B-But…” He sounded all choked up and I was starting to get frustrated.

“Shut up or I’ll slap you!”

He stopped and looked up at me with these ten-year-old sad eyes.

“Go to bed. You’ll realize how horrible an idea this was tomorrow.”

I got him to bed eventually and the moron I have for a suitor still didn’t quite realize what the hell was going on. He’s going to regret this tomorrow.

I never want to be that drunk. I don’t ever want to lose control of myself that way. It sounds dangerous and scary and I’d just rather keep myself under control because…I’m afraid of what I’d do. And I wouldn’t know, either. I’d rather just stay sober. And I don’t want to end up like my mother.

 

22 October 1613

He definitely regretted it from the look on his face today. I guess he told Dolora he had a cold, because he was holding a mug of that herb tea she always makes when someone gets a cold.

“So,” I said. “Regret it yet?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I feel awful.”

“You deserve it.”

“What did I do? As in, which part of that?”

“You came home and you were drunk out of your mind.”

“…Sorry.”

“Yeah. Great.”

“What?”

“You’re acting like my mother. No, you were acting like those drunk men in the village.”

“What?” he asked again. He probably had a headache like Mother used to get.

“Drinking your problems away, then coming home and expecting me to get you to bed and take care of you? Next time, I’ll let you fall asleep on the floor.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Then don’t expect me to be there to catch you every time!”

“I didn’t expect you to be there! I thought you were at your house! How was I supposed to know you stayed late?”

“I always stay late these days, Sigmun.”

“I said sorry! What do you want?”

“I want someone who won’t treat me like a slave!”

“When have I ever done that?”

“Last night!”

“Have I ever been drunk before then? No! And I certainly don’t plan to do that again!”

“You say that, but no one keeps promises for long!”

“You’re not being fair! It was one time!”

“I couldn’t care less if it was one time or a hundred! I’m surprised you remembered my name at all! What other women did you see last night?”

“Oh, so that’s what this is about? Well, for your information, none! I didn’t touch another woman the whole night!”

“As if I should believe that! How would you know?”

“Because I’d notice if I was suddenly kissing someone else! I remember things, Dianna!”

“And yet you don’t have the common sense not to get drunk as hell?”

“Are you really angry at me or just hurt?”

“I’m really pissed off at you, Sigmun! Can’t a woman be angry?”

“Of course! Obviously you are! I’m just…” He rested his head on the table and said, “I said sorry. What else can I do?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you still here? Just go if you’re going to go.”

I sighed. “I’m not going to leave you.”

“Why not?”

“Because after all that I still love you, you idiot!”

He didn’t reply to that for a long time. I don’t even know why I said it.

“I’m going home,” I snapped, picking up the book and leaving. I don’t know why I’m so angry. I just…How could he do that? How could he do something that stupid and awful? I don’t even know what I’ll do. I no longer risk my safety by staying at home, but I still want to see Simonn and Dolora and I know Dolora will worry if I don’t visit. I could say I’m taking a day to hunt, but…I don’t know. I’m just so angry!

 

23 October 1613

I gave up trying to sit at home all day pretty quickly. I can’t stand staying inside all day. So I went hunting in the morning and into the evening and I got a rabbit and then I decided that I should go to their house, only because Dolora would be worrying. But when I got there, Sigmun was sitting at the table with a book and a cup of tea. 

“Hello,” I said shortly. 

“Hello,” he said, trying to smile. “How are you?”

“Fine. And you?”

“I’m alright.” I could tell he didn’t believe I was fine, but he wasn’t going to call me out on it. “Better, anyways.”

“Well, anything’s better than getting so drunk you trip on chairs.”

“That’s not fair. You’re not being fair!”

“Isn’t it? You of all people should know that doing something that stupid is not going to land you anywhere pleasant!” I still don’t know why I was so upset. I just…I’m so tired of always being the mistake and I’m afraid that now I’m going to be some else’s mistake. 

“Don’t you think I regret it, too? My head hurt and I couldn’t look out the window and I couldn’t even think about food. I could barely stand without the room spinning in crazy circles. And now Mama’s going to be mad once she figures it out and on top of all that, I’m losing…”

“Losing what, Sigmun? Losing what?”

“I’m losing you.” He barely whispered it, but he sounded heartbroken. I don’t know how anyone could have a not-marriage (or whatever you call this relationship we have) without talking like this. We’ve always been honest with each other and I think that that’s a good thing.

I sighed again. “No you’re not. Just…I don’t know.”

“Just don’t do anything that dumb again?”

“…Yeah. I guess so.”

“I remember all of that, you know.”

“Really.”

“Vaguely. You told me you’d slap me.”

“I didn’t mean it.”

“I know.”

We sat in silence for a long time and I wanted to say something but I didn’t know what. I had this weird mix of feelings in me, resentment towards Mother and anger at Sigmun and hurt and also guilt. They were all awful. And I just didn’t know how to express them. So I picked the worst one.

“Do you still care about me?”

He looked kind of mystified. “I love you, Dianna. One fight didn’t change that.”

“Nice to know. I love you, too.”

“Did you think I’d just leave because of one really dumb choice and one really dumb fight? It was my fault anyways.”

“People always leave. I kind of count on it. I’m everybody’s biggest mistake.”

“Well, you’re certainly not one of my mistakes at all. Promise.”

“Till death do us part?”

He grinned kind of shakily and said, “Till death do us part.”

I smiled back and asked, “Is Simonn going to be here today?”

“He stopped by, but I think he’s in the village trying to muster up the courage to talk to Hannah.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, he really needs to tell her. He’s driving himself crazy.”

“That’s certainly true. Are you staying for dinner?”

“If it’s no trouble.”

“I hope you know that every time you say that, it will be no trouble at all.”

I shrugged. “I don’t want to be any bother.”

“And you never were and you never will be. Mama’s not joking when she calls us all her children, you know.”

“I know.”

A long pause. “I’m sorry,” I said.

“What for?”

“I’d never hurt you. Never, ever. I swear it.”

“I know that. Of course I do. Why?”

“I didn’t mean I’d hit you. I never would.”

“I know. You know I know.”

“I just really want you to know that, okay? With Mother and everything…”

“Well, you’re not like your mother. Anyone with half a brain can see that.”

“I just want you to know that I wouldn’t do that. Ever.” 

“I do know that. Believe me, I do.” 

“I’m just sorry. I said it when I was angry and I didn’t mean it and I never would. Ever.”

“You’ve said that about four times. I do know.” 

“Alright…”

“You can choose the book today.”

“Want to go to the creek?”

“Sure.”

So I picked one of the romance novels and we went to the creek and just read for a while. And I kissed him, once, on the lips, but not so intense like it is sometimes. I was just so tired of being upset. 

It’s strange; I don’t feel like this is my fault, like I usually do. I’ve always known that most things that go wrong in my life are my fault, but this time I feel like maybe it’s his fault, but I’m not mad anymore. People do dumb things (I think a few of my own choices can prove that) and I guess the only thing to do is move past them. Dwelling won’t do any good. I know that much for sure. 

 

24 October 1613

It was cold out today. I took my mother’s blankets and piled them on my bed, so now I’m not shivering when I try to sleep like I used to. It would be nice to sleep next to Sigmun, because I’d bet he’d be warm and comfortable. I hope he’d like to sleep next to me. I just think it would be nice to not wake up lonely and alone. And it would be nice to not wake up cold. 

 

26 October 1613

I sold the birdcage today. I got actually quite a bit for it, so I bought yeast and flour to make bread for quite a while and a nice new pair of boots, sturdy and comfortable. I’m glad to have that lonely thing out of my house. Now that it’s my house, I’m going to make it nice and comfortable and not so cold-feeling, even in summer. 

 

27 October 1613

Today I shot a rabbit and I made stew again and I’m just so happy that I can support myself enough to not starve to death. I’ll make bread tomorrow. 

 

28 October 1613

My bread-making endeavor went relatively well and I have a loaf to eat through the week. Hopefully it’ll keep. Dolora makes bread every two days, but I don’t have the time or the appetite to do that. 

Sigmun fell asleep on my lap again today and I stroked his hair gently and it felt nice to be so close to him, to give my affection to someone else. 

 

30 October 1613

Tomorrow is All Hallows’ Eve and for the first time, I won’t have to go to town with my mother and talk with her friends’ children. I can actually enjoy myself this year. What a rare opportunity. 

 

31 October 1613

All Hallows’ Eve was wonderful this year. We all met up in the park, like usual, except it felt a little strange because Neolla’s at school and she couldn’t afford to come home. Mariek kept glancing to her left like she was expecting Neolla to be sitting there with her red-tinted eyeglasses and her teal skirt that seemed like the skirts I saw on the few university women that made them look like pencils even though it’s just like mine. (That sounded mean. I just mean to describe how they looked. How I wish I could be one of those very few university women…)

Anyways, we ate sweets and played horseshoes (of course Mariek won by a mile) and watched as the little ones ran around, asking for sweets and flowers to weave into chains. Hannah and Mariek and I taught Sigmun and Simonn and Sumner and even Patrik how to make flower chains. I guess it’s a skill boys don’t bother to learn. I bet many of them think it’s too girly. I don’t know why boys always get so offended about being called girly.

After a Patrik had left to go spend time with his family, Mariek and Sumner disappeared together (no question as to what happened there), and then Simonn and Hannah left, both giving excuses a child wouldn’t have believed. I waited until they were gone to start laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“They’re going off together because they want to kiss.”

“I know that much. But what’s funny about that?”

“It’s funny because they think the rest of us don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“I suppose it goes both ways.”

“What, like how you and I danced around each other for a year before we ‘fessed up?”

“Yeah.”

Sigmun looked around the emptying park. Most everyone was in the square by now, eating supper.

“Speaking of, we are rather alone here,” he said. 

“You have such a dirty mind.”

“Bet you were thinking the same thing.”

I was. “You win that bet.” I kissed him right on the lips and it was nice, kissing him like that. I mean, I suppose I was more reserved than usual, because we were in a public park for heaven’s sake, but it was still nice and I still felt good and light and free and I didn’t have to worry about Mother finding me and I never thought that would happen.

I’m staying over at Sigmun’s tonight with Simonn and it’s hilarious because Simonn walked home with us and he was absolutely on cloud nine.

“Simonn?”

“Yeah?” he said, almost dreamily.

“Did you kiss Hannah?”

“What makes you say that?” he asked, flopping back on the couch and grinning up at the ceiling.

“You’re acting practically delirious.”

“No m’not.”

“Simonn…”I said.

“You obviously kissed her, don’t lie,” Sigmun contributed. “Don’t be a hypocrite.”

“Fine,” Simonn admitted. “We kissed.”

“How was it?” I asked, grinning.

“Wonderful,” Simonn said. “It was amazing.”

“You sound a little bit drunk.”

“I’m fine…” He grinned again and stood up. “I’m going to bed…”

“Yeah right,” I said. “You’re going to stay up reliving the same two minutes over and over again in your head.”

Simonn blushed. “No I’m not.”

“Yes you are, don’t try to deny it,” I said.

“How do you know?”

“Because that’s what I did.”

Sigmun shot me a look from where he was picking a book off the shelf and I realized that he was indeed still in the room and that he was the one in the moment I relived a hundred times over.

Simonn sighed dreamily and said, “Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, Simmie,” I said.

After he’d gone upstairs to Sigmun’s room (now that the leak is fixed), Sigmun said, “You…you were like that after we kissed?”

“…Yeah, a little.” I felt my face burn.

“Only because I kind of was too,” he blurted, all in a rush. “I mean, I was just…yeah.”

I kissed his cheek and said, “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged and added, “I’m going to bed, too. Goodnight.”

“G’night, Siggy.” I kissed him and went to search for the blanket I usually use when I sleep here.

Simonn and Hannah. It certainly took them long enough. I hope Hannah gets out of her father’s house soon. I hope things start going well for us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this was late! Finals happened, then I was out of town with no computer for a week. So here this chapter is! Please leave a comment!


	17. Jennet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery of Jennet is solved, at least somewhat
> 
> Also, an existential crisis before the word "existential" existed.

1 November 1613

All Saint’s Day today. It was lovely in the village, not a cloud in the blue sky. I wonder if the sea is actually the color of the sky like people say it is. Obviously I’ve never been to the sea. I’ve never even been to a lake. Clearly the sea and lakes exist, but I wonder if the sky and the sea are really the same color. 

At any rate, Neolla came back! She said she wouldn’t in her letters, but then today she said she wanted it to be a surprise. She was dressed like she normally is, too, with that teal skirt and the black bodice. I’ve never met anyone else who wears a black bodice. And she was wearing those red-tinted glasses, too. I saw something in Mariek’s eyes, a sort of fulfillment, like she was missing a piece. I still think her and Neolla need each other more than they realize. 

We played horseshoes again, and a few of the youngest children asked us for dried flowers and sweets. I still have plenty of dried flowers, so I gave them some. I saw some of them making flower chains. I don’t have any money left over from that strange birdcage, but I found a few pennies around the house (who knew my mother dear had a jar of pennies in her room) and bought a few sweets from the man who sells them in the market for my friends. It was just a lovely day and a lovely time and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so happy, with no one puppeting (if that’s a word) me into being the perfect daughter to show off to the other mothers. 

Dolora made such a delicious dinner, too. It’s amazing to me, the similarities between cooking a meal and creating a remedy for smallpox (not that anyone’s ever really cured, but there are ways to make them more comfortable or reduce the scarring. My own pox marks aren’t so bad because of Dolora). She made mashed potatoes and that stew with the onions and the celery and chicken broth, instead of vegetable and a sort of bread she says she learned to make when she was a child in school. It was all very good. 

I’m staying the night again, of course. I like staying somewhere warm and safe like Dolora and Sigmun’s house, though I know I must go to my own house because I keep my things there and because if I don’t stay there, someone else will. But it was such a nice holiday and I don’t think I’ve ever had one so nice, even when I was a child. 

I wish it could be like this every day. 

 

2 November 1613

I still don’t like that mirror, or any of the other heirlooms my mother left around her room, but I also don’t want to sell them all at once. I’ll save selling the silver for an emergency, but I think that strange old painting I might want to get out of my house as fast as I can. I also found a jar of pennies yesterday and it’s not much relatively speaking, only about twenty cents in total, but that is more than enough for what I need. I don’t know why my mother kept a jar of pennies, and though the jar is perfectly intact, it must hold some sort of sentimental value for her, because it’s not terribly lovely. 

I also found an empty crystal jar that’s quite pretty. I might keep it. It’d be a prettier savings jar, anyways. 

 

3 November 1613

Today we went to the clearing with the forget-me-nots (even though they’re all dead because that’s what happens after the first frost) and sat around for no good reason, just watching the day go by. 

“How come days happen?” Sigmun asked. 

“What do you mean?” I said. 

“I mean…why does the sun rise? Why does it set? Why does time…happen?”

“Because the Earth spins on its axis and—” Simonn said. 

“I know that,” Sigmun waved away. “But why? Times just goes by, and we live our lives, regardless of our perception or understanding of how the sun and the moon and the Earth work, and in a hundred years, we’re going to know so much more, but that doesn’t change what happens here and now, and it never will, because by then now will be then and ‘the future’ will be their ‘now’. Why does that all happen?”

“No need to stir up some great humanist crisis or anything,” Simonn said. 

“Not sure that’s quite what humanism is,” I contributed. 

“Well, the point still stands. I don’t know. Nobody does. The only thing to do is just keep living and hope you’ll find some sort of purpose in this forsaken world,” Simonn said. 

“I think everyone has a purpose,” I said. “I mean, nothing in nature exists without purpose. And since people are part of nature, we all must have a purpose.” 

“But who, or what I guess, gives us a purpose?”

“Maybe we give it to ourselves,” Simonn said. 

“Maybe God gives it to us.”

“God?” Simonn asked. 

“What about God?”

“You believe in God?”

“Of course I do. Do you?”

“No,” Simonn said. “I don’t think any God would let children die.”

“I don’t think God’s too happy about the dead children either!”

“I find it strange that you believe in God after everything with your mad mother.” 

“Well, I made it out alive, didn’t I?”

“But you’ve never seen God.”

“You’ve never seen the ocean, how do you know that exists?”

“Because other people have seen the ocean and they can tell me it exists.”

“Guys, that wasn’t my point,” Sigmun said. “Look, you’re both right. Maybe God exists, maybe God doesn’t exist. I’m wondering why time just happens.” 

“Because it does. Time and space, they just exist,” Simonn said. “And no one knows why.” 

“That’s comforting,” I said. 

“It’s the truth.” 

“Maybe someone, or something, put everything here,” Sigmun said, lying back and looking at the sky. “Maybe God. Maybe not. But it seems to me that someone went to all the trouble to make people, so we must have some purpose.” 

“I guess.” Simonn lied down and I did, too, so all our heads were in a circle. “I don’t know. We might just be random chance. We might just be one star in the sky to someone else.”

“That’s a scary prospect,” Sigmun said. 

“I don’t know. It’s kind of scarier to imagine that there is nothing else alive among all the stars but us,” I said. 

“What a strange thought,” Simonn said. “Other worlds, I mean.” 

“Yeah…” 

“What about an afterlife?” I posed. 

“Oh, I think there’s an afterlife,” Sigmun said. “I mean, why go to all the trouble of making people just to let them die in sixty years? I think there’s a life after this one.”

“I don’t know,” Simonn said. “I mean, I’d like to believe in an afterlife, but I’m not sure what it’s like or any of that. I just…I’d like to believe all my other siblings are safe somewhere.”

“I believe in an afterlife,” I said. “Not heaven and hell and purgatory. And certainly not ‘offering up Earthly suffering’. But…something.” 

“I don’t know what it is,” Simonn said, taking my left hand and Sigmun’s right. “I just don’t want to face it alone.”

I took Sigmun’s left hand and squeezed Simonn’s hand tighter. 

“You’ll never face anything alone, as long as we’re around,” Sigmun said with a sort of confidence that covered up much more emotion. 

“Thanks,” Simonn said, very quietly. He squeezed my hand tighter. 

“You’re welcome,” I said. 

 

4 November 1613

This is the last page of my journal. I better find that gift one from Sigmun. 

It was a good day today. The sun was out, and I had to wear my cloak because it was cold, and it rained, but only at night. 

 

12 November

I found the journal today! I thought I’d lost it forever. 

Oh, and I sold the last of the heirlooms and I put all the money in the crystal jar, which I hid under my bed in a pile of old clothes I’m using for a new quilt. I don’t know why Mother kept all those creepy things, but I got rid of them. My mother’s room could be a guest room now. If someone I’d never met came to my house, there would be no clue she or Father has ever lived here. 

Strangely enough, it almost makes me sad. 

 

13 November 1613

The strangest thing happened today. 

While I was eating dinner, someone knocked on the door. So I answered it, and a strange woman was standing there with a regretful look on her face. 

“Does an Elizabeth Sailor live here?” she asked. 

“You just missed her,” I said. “She left late in August.” 

“When will she be back?” the woman asked. 

“As far as I know, never.” 

“Is she…Is she dead?”

“I don’t know.”

“Who are you?”

“Dianna Leijon.”

“Who?”

“Elizabeth and William Sailor’s daughter.” 

She stared. 

“And you are?” I asked. 

“Smith. Jennet Smith.”

So this was the Jennet Mother hated so much. Jennet Smith. The number of times I heard Mother screaming about her, who she hated for something I never quite understood. 

“Why are you here?”

“I’m here to speak with your mother.”

“Elizabeth Sailor is not my mother.” 

“You said you were her daughter.”

“She and I lived together until I was eighteen and she did attempt to raise me for six years of my childhood. But she is not my mother except by the loosest of definitions.”

“That’s irrelevant.” A city girl, I could tell by her mannerisms. “I would like to speak with her. Do you know where she is?”

“No.” 

“I just want to speak with my sister!” Jennet snapped. “Where is Elizabeth Sailor?” 

“Your sister,” I repeated skeptically. 

“Yes. My sister.” 

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t know where she is.” I paused. “Would you like to come in for tea?”

She nodded and I put a kettle on the stove to boil. “Green or black?”

“Green, please.” So I brewed a cup of green tea and one of black tea and I brought them over to her and contemplated the fact that I did have family and that Mother lied about having no siblings. 

“Did she tell you about me?” Jennet asked, sipping her tea. Definitely a city girl. 

“In a sense.”

“In a sense?”

“When she was drunk, she would sometimes think I was you and scream at me for something I didn’t do. I don’t know what.”

“Oh.” She paused and thought about it. “Well, it wasn’t my fault, what happened.”

“What did happen?” I was curious. 

“Oh, everything. I didn’t agree with what she wanted out of life, she thought I was just following the rules…She wanted to be a biologist. She was insane. I wanted her to get married, like any reasonable city girl…” Jennet sighed. “I told her marriage was the only way, she didn’t listen, now she’s probably raising you alone and unmarried--”

“Actually, she is married. William Sailor, didn’t you hear me? I was adopted anyway. My name is Leijon.”

“Leijon?”

“Yes. Like the noble family.” I don’t know why I was defending Mother. I don’t know why I wanted to prove Jennet wrong. 

“Well…I just wanted to make up with her. Tell her it was alright. I never married anyways.” Hypocrite. 

“Good luck, then,” I said brusquely. “But I need to finish some sewing. Good evening.”

“Good evening,” Jennet said, standing and leaving. I guess she heard my icy tone. 

So that’s Jennet. I guess I know why my mother hated her so much. It seems to me that she is a part of the reason Mother insisted I get married; she must’ve thought that her sister was right and she was wrong when she didn’t reach her ambitions and it must’ve been crushing. 

I wonder if some of my miserable childhood was Jennet’s fault. 

 

14 November 1613

We studied Roman literature today. 

Oh, and I forgot to mention, hunting’s going well enough. I make stew twice a week and buy bread every other day. I don’t eat quite as much as I’d like to, but there’s only so much I can do as an unmarried woman. It’s alright, though; I like the way I live without my mother. 

 

15 November 1613

Today while I was hunting, I tripped on something, a branch or a rock or I don’t know what, and I cut my hand open on a rock. At least it was my left hand. But I had to go to Dolora and she cleaned it and bandaged it, even though I could probably do it myself, and then she said that it really was high time I brush my hair. She’s right about that, but I’ll still need her help. 

 

17 November 1613

Dolora brushed my hair today. She didn’t yesterday because I forgot that peppermint oil Simonn gave me. But I remembered both that and my brush today and so Dolora brushed all my hair out until it shined and smelled like peppermint. She said if I keep brushing my hair with the stuff every morning, I should be able to keep it somewhat nice all the time. I might do that. The only thing is, I really like it when Dolora brushes my hair. 

 

18 November 1613

Today was actually a decent day. I suppose my constant surprise when things go well is rather a bad thing, but I’m so used to my life with my mother that good things seems surprising. 

 

20 November 1613

I wonder sometimes what would have happened if someone else had been my mother. If I’d been given to some other family who actually took care of me, a mother who loved me, a father who was actually home, a family…

I do have a family, of course, but I wish sometimes that I had a better blood family. It’s just so lonely in this house when no one’s ever around. 

 

23 November 1613

Someone came by today, some strange-looking man again, and he asked about the wolves in the woods. So I told him that the wolves weren’t real, it was just a scary story everybody told, because that’s the truth about the wolves. How strange. 

 

25 November 1613

I still wonder sometimes what I did to Mother that she hated me so much. I don’t think I ever hurt her. I wasn’t much of a burden, or at least I tried my best not to be. I know I was a mistake to her, but I didn’t try to be. I just wonder. 

 

26 November 1613

I did my hair up again today and I think it turned out quite nice, actually. I never thought I’d see myself ink those words on a page, but I mean it. How strange, to look in the mirror and not hate the face that stares back. 

 

28 November 1613

I only had one nightmare last night, which is a huge improvement, but it was one of the screaming ones, which isn’t so good. At least I was alone when I woke up. 

 

30 November 1613

We read some of Principia today and I’m just so glad I have them, and I’m so glad I have the books, and I’m so glad I have everything I do have. 

It’s also nice that when Dolora looks at me, she doesn’t look so afraid, like I won’t be there the next day. I’m glad I don’t worry her anymore and I’m glad I’m not in so much danger anymore. 

 

1 December 1613

I don’t feel sick as this December begins. I lit the first Advent candle today and I actually got three purple candles and a pink one, and a pretty candle for the center. Today was the hope candle. Hope, joy, peace, love. I actually felt quite hopeful this time, though. I have hope that I can still perhaps live a happy life, that I won’t live alone forever, that I’m not cursed to be unlovable. I have hope. 

 

8 December 1613

I lost my journal again! It was behind that old mirror this time. I must have dropped it there after I finished brushing my hair one morning. 

Today I lit the candle for joy. Considering the way I’ve been kissing Sigmun recently, I think joy is the proper word for how I feel some days. 

Oh, that sounded so much worse than I meant it! Obviously we haven’t been doing anything besides kissing, but I do like kissing him and I do like the way he feels different when he’s so close to me. Sometimes I feel this strange sort of wanting, but I’m not quite sure what it is I want. It’s just this huge feeling of want in my gut. 

 

10 December 1613

I suppose I haven’t been writing so consistently, because my life has been relatively stable, but there’s not much to write about! It’s been snowing, and we’ve been studying like usual, and Christmas is coming, and Simonn and Hannah meet in the market some days (because Hannah’s father still doesn’t know about her and Simonn), and I still feel better than I have in years. 

It’s nice. 

 

12 December 1613

Dolora asked me if I’d like to help her with her work today and I said of course, so she showed me how to boil the bandages and the thread and needles for stitching (because people used to get sick when she stitched up cuts, and since people get sick more often when it’s cold out, boiling the thread should reduce the risk that people will get sick). She had Sigmun sort the dried herbs and Simonn crush some of them into powder so they’re easier to use in mixtures. I suspect Dolora thinks more about numbering her days than she shows. She’s thirty-three, so she’s probably going to have fifteen more years or so. That’s plenty of time, but she could fall sick younger. 

But that’s a train of thought I’d rather not pursue right now. 

 

13 December 1613

It is strange to think that someday I won’t be anymore. Someday I will be a rotting corpse buried under six feet of dirt, with nothing but a headstone and perhaps children to remember me. I’m not going to do something memorable, so I won’t be in those books people write about history. I’ll live and I’ll die and one day I will not exist anymore and that’s just very strange to me. 

 

15 December 1613

Today I lit the candle for peace. I’ve always wondered if it’s supposed to mean peace as in the opposite of war or more like internal peace. Neither really applies right now, not with the fighting going on in the rest of the continent, or with all this confusion inside me about how I feel about Mother. I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel about her and I don’t know how I do feel about her and it’s just very complicated. I’m not sure I hate her. I know I don’t love her, or like her. But I feel a little bad for her, and a little sad. I just don’t know. 

 

17 December 1613

I had that drowning dream again, except with my mother’s voice in the clouds and the thunder again. I hate that nightmare so, so much. It’s just too much to believe that I’m actually, properly free from my mother. How is this even possible? It’s just…it’s the best thing in the world, and yet I’m terrified. 

 

19 December 1613

Hunting is so hard and my stews don’t always have any meat in them, but at least I’m eating. Vegetable stew is better than staving by a mile. I’m so glad I don’t seem to be dying and it aches me (in a good way) to know that I’m not dying. I will someday, but today is not that day. 

 

20 December 1613

Simonn recruited Sigmun and I to help him find presents for his siblings. He needs to find five this year! And Sigmun of course searched for something for Dolora, as did I. Simonn can’t afford to get something for Dolora, but he said he’s going to search his home for something nice. 

Anyways, we found some wooden toys for Robert and Isabella, a hat for Richard, and a pair of nice new boots for Thomas. Simonn also found a nice sort of fabric and he’s going to sew something to chew on for Joanne. He says babies always start crying when their teeth come in, but something to chew on helps sometimes. 

Sigmun bought a bunch of candles for Dolora, and I found some lovely jade-colored fabric at the fabric store that I’ll use to make a skirt or something. I bought Simonn a book when he wasn’t looking and Sigmun a romance novel when he wasn’t looking. This Christmas should be a good one. 

 

22 December 1613

I lit the candle for love today and it feels beautiful, because I feel surrounded by love right now. I have Dolora’s motherly love, Sigmun’s more-than-friendly love, and Simonn’s friendly love. I have all my friends and I’m starting to feel like maybe I can manage a little love for myself. 

 

24 December 1613

It snowed so beautifully today. The whole world looks dipped in sugar and the woods look magical. Fairies could be living there, the way it looks now. I just love December when there’s nothing making me feel sick. 

 

25 December 1613

I celebrated Christmas with Sigmun and Dolora again this year and I still feel like crying because pure feelings, with no twisted sadness and anger and resentment behind them, still stun me sometimes. It was a wonderful meal, Yorkshire pudding and potatoes and everything else in a traditional holiday meal and it was delicious. Simonn was of course with his siblings, but I didn’t have to worry about making a plate for my mother or dodging her drunken blows or anything else. I made Dolora an overskirt I sewed for her, and I gave Sigmun that book, and he smiled and kissed my cheek and then he gave me a lovely shirt with embroidery around the color. Dolora gave me a necklace with a little heart-shaped pendant on it and said it was a tradition in her family to give the eldest daughter this necklace on her eighteenth Christmas. 

The meal was delicious and the house was warm and I felt so safe and so protected and so…loved. For once in my life, I feel loved. 

 

26 December 1613

Jennet came by again today. I’m feeling very irritated with her. 

“Hello.” 

“Hello,” I said shortly. 

“I would like to ask if you still have a particular heirloom.”

“I may. Please come in and take a seat.”

She did and then said, “Where were you yesterday?”

“Celebrating Christmas with my family.”

“So you’ve seen her? You’ve seen my sister?” 

“No. As I said, I celebrated with my family.”

“And your family does not include your mother?” I resented her disapproving tone. 

“No, in fact it does not.”

“Then who is your family?”

“My two dearest friends and my dear friend’s mother. I do hope you aren’t offended by my familial choices.” 

“Not in the least. Do you still have a gilded birdcage?”

“I don’t know what you mean?”

“A birdcage. I doubt she would have had two.”

Oh. The birdcage I sold in October because it looked so lonely. “Oh, I know the one you mean.”

“You do?”

“I sold it.”

“What? Why?”

“It looked lonely without a bird.”

“Whom did you sell it to?”

“I don’t remember.” 

“Did you know that was my birthday gift to her when she turned eighteen?” Jennet shouted, standing. 

“I’m sorry, I did not! Perhaps if you hadn’t spent your whole life criticizing her choices, she would have mentioned it!” 

“Perhaps if you had asked your mother about her past, she would have told you!”

“And perhaps if she hadn’t been a heartbroken, resentful, angry drunk, I could have!” 

“You were a horrible daughter!”

“As if I don’t know that already!” 

“You deserve to know that!”

“Get out of my house.”

“Excuse me? This is my sister’s house!” 

“No, this is my house. Your sister is gone.”

“No she is not, she can’t be!” I recognized the note of panic in her voice and I realized she was afraid she’d die without ever seeing my mother again, without ever reconciling with her. 

“Well, she is. Now get out.”

Jennet glared at me one more time before she turned on her heel and marched out. 

 

28 December 1613

Simonn brought all his siblings over today. Isabella and Richard had a snowball fight with Thomas and Robert while the three of us watched them from the window and read a book. Then we made hot chocolate, possibly the rarest treat I’ve ever had, and sat around and just hung out. 

It was such a lovely day, 

 

30 December 1613

It snowed again last night, and there were huge snowdrifts on my walk to Sigmun and Dolora’s house. I almost lost one of my winter boots in all the snow, which would be quite the pain in the neck. But I didn’t, though the hem of my skirt is damp from snow, as well as my socks. 

 

31 December 1613

I feel light and free and alive. My life has never felt so free. I feel so much better without my mother around to please. Why should I measure myself by anyone’s standards but my own?

My mother can go to hell. I’ve got my own life to lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week’s chapter brought to you by that feeling you get when you read your old writing and you kind of want to go back in time and smack yourself silly, and the subsequent realization that someday I will have that feeling about this particular piece of writing.


	18. Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye to Hannh and hello to a brand-new world of fears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for attempted rape in this chapter and some strong language.

LOOK I KNOW NO ONE READS MY AUTHOR'S NOTES BUT THIS ONE IS IMPORTANT AND SHORT AND AT THE BEGINNING PLEASE READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY PLEASE.

1 January 1614

Happy New Year! I didn’t make any resolutions this year because I’m not sure what I don’t like in my world anymore. I dislike myself, at least my external self, but I think I’ve mostly come to terms with my internal self. I’d certainly like to think so, anyways. 

I celebrated with Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and it felt so warm to be having a nice meal and joking about how 1614 will go and all that. I love holidays. 

 

3 January 1614

Today we were all sitting around in the library when Simonn said, “Hey, guys?”

“What?”

“Five things you like about yourself. Go.”

“I’m brave, I’m kind, I’m…good at public speaking, I’m good at history, and…I have you all,” Sigmun said. 

The both turned to me and I thought for a second. “I’m clever, I can speak six languages, I’m kind, I…I have a family, and I…I’m a quick learner.”

“I’m intelligent, I’m taking care of my siblings pretty damn well, I’m a good teacher, I’m really good at math and science, and I’m…I’m compassionate.”

“Funny, that was much easier than it used to be,” I said, because it was.

“It helps not to be stuck with someone like your mother,” Simonn said wryly. 

“Yeah, that might be part of it,” I said, and I half-smiled because I’m so glad she’s out of my life. 

 

6 January 1614

Hannah came over today and handed Simonn her letter to Dorothy to proofread. I suppose she’ll send it soon. I hope Dorothy’s alright; I know Hannah worries about her sisters more than anything else. Hannah’s handwriting still looks rather like a child’s, but she’s only just learned, so that’s to be expected. She’ll get better if she practices. I hope she can find time and secrecy to practice when she lives with her father. 

 

8 January 1614

Simonn brought his siblings over today for unknown reasons. He said his mother just told him to take them out. He didn’t bring Joanne, the youngest, because she’s not even two years yet. Anyways, they had a snowball fight outside again and I persuaded Sigmun and Simonn to come outside and play with them. After all, in many ways we’re still children. So we all played in the snow until it was near dark and Simonn left for home. I stayed for dinner with Dolora and Sigmun and I’m still so grateful for everything Dolora does for me.

 

9 January 1614

Dolora got a letter today and Rose will be visiting in September, apparently. It’s when she can next get away with all her duties as a seamstress and as part of that revolutionary underground. I can’t believe how casual Rose is about that fact that she’s part of an underground movement. But she’s kind and I see how happy she makes Dolora and I think that Dolora deserves happiness. I wonder what it would have been like if the two of them had been together when I was little, if I might’ve been able to summon the courage to run away if there had been two adults I trusted. 

Oh, and I finished my nice dress today. I can wear that on all the holidays and other days I want to look nice. 

 

11 January 1614

I was in the market today with Sigmun and I overheard someone talking about the king, King James the first. He’s Candas’s father, obviously, and apparently he might make some laws about how doctors who are men can’t treat women, or can only treat them under certain circumstances. If that’s true, then who’s supposed to treat women? I suppose people like Dolora, but I doubt they’re all that common. I already know that people don’t like Dolora because she’s a midwife and midwives make childbirth less painful and apparently that’s our punishment for what Eve did. I think that’s silly because Adam ate the fruit, too. But apparently men don’t get any punishment for that first sin. Is forgiveness exclusive to them? Are women supposed to wait for some other messiah to save us? 

I just don’t think it’s fair to blame women for all the problems of the world when all the people in power are men. 

 

13 January 1614

Sigmun made mashed potatoes today, my favorite, and when I asked him why he said it was a present. When I asked what for, he said for the hell of it. He said that he wanted to make me happy. So I smiled, because the mashed potatoes were delicious, and then I kissed him, for the hell of it and because I like kissing him. He’s so sweet. 

Oh, and I returned the other book and brought home a new one, this one on Russian literature. I love books. They’re wonderful. 

 

14 January 1614

Disaster has properly struck this time. Hannah’s father is taking her and her two sisters and moving to another village tomorrow! I guess he’s trying to find husbands for them. It’s hard because Hannah’s family is Jewish and people aren’t nice to Jewish people, which I think is very strange. Also, Hannah’s father told her she has to marry a Jewish man. Simonn’s upset and Hannah’s scared because she says that we protect her from her father a lot of days. I don’t know if there’s anything we can do. 

But really, what does she mean about protecting her from her father? Unless…I dislike considering that her father might be like my mother, but…it would explain an awful lot. I must ask her again tomorrow. 

 

15 January 1614

Hannah cried when she said goodbye to us today. She seemed so afraid, so I told her to come back to visit or to stay any time she liked. We’d find a place for her and her sisters, I know it. I’m just so worried. 

She left around noon. I hope and pray I’ll see her again. 

 

9 March 1614

Well, I lost my journal for two months or so again. How intelligent I am sometimes. It was buried under my light summer quilt this time. At least I have it now. I’ll keep it in my satchel so I don’t lose track of it. And I’ll also fold my quilts and put them away in the different seasons. 

It’s been nice recently. We study, we swim, we work on our projects, we discuss getting jobs. We’re all going to have to get jobs soon. I’m eighteen and living on my own, and my savings are running out. I’ll need to find a job sooner rather than later. 

 

10 March 1614

Simonn sent another letter to Hannah today, asking her if she was okay and begging her to please reply so we know she’s alive and, with any luck, safe and sound. I rather doubt that second point, but I don’t want to discourage Simonn. I’m afraid for Hannah, too. 

 

12 March 1614

I had one of the dreams last night about the two girls I feel like I should know, but I don’t. I have no idea who they are. The older girl hugged me again, and I felt her tears on my shoulder. I hope I haven’t wronged her somehow. But she said it again, “I love you. Thank you.” This time I caught the whole sentence: “Thank you for being my mother.” I have no idea what on Earth she’s talking about. I suppose I’m her mother at some point in my future, and it’s nice to know I have a future that includes children, but why would she be thanking me? For that matter, what about the other girl? The two must be sisters; they look too much alike to be unrelated, or even cousins. 

I wonder. 

 

13 March 1614

Oh my goodness. Please somebody tell me this isn’t real. I’m still shaking and I think I might vomit. Again. I don’t even know what to do right now. I’m too afraid to go back home, but I can’t stay here forever. Why does fear have to rule my life?

I should probably write it, if only to attempt to clear my head. I need to sort out my thoughts.

I was running errands today, because all my clothes are getting old and rather torn. I needed fabric and thread to just sew myself a couple new shirts and skirts and a nice dress, one for festivals and the like. And I need a new nightdress, most definitely. Anyways, then I needed some food, too, like every week. I really wasn’t doing anything different, only I took a shortcut home through an alley because I planned to visit Sigmun and Dolora before going home, because today was going to be a sewing day. I wasn’t doing anything wrong, I don’t think. I’m pretty sure that walking through an alley doesn’t count as wrong. Does it?

At any rate, I was walking when I felt someone behind me. I wheeled around because it was getting dark and I was getting nervous and there was this huge man standing behind me with this awful look on his face, angry and terrible and something I couldn’t quite pin down. He grabbed the front of my shirt and picked me up and I panicked because if he was strong enough to just pick me up off the ground, how was I supposed to escape? I tried to kick him, but missed. “Hey there, missy,” he whispered, and his voice was rough as tree bark. “I hope you like men a little…shall we say cocky?”

“Please leave me alone!”

“Not a chance, you little bitch,” he snarled. He threw me down and it winded me to the point where I couldn’t run. But I could still scream. “GET AWAY FROM ME!”

“You know you want it, whore.”

“No! Please go away!” I could feel tears stinging my eyes and it got hard to see and I was desperate and terrified, more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life.

He just growled at me, covered my mouth with one hand, and started pulling off my shirt, even though I was fighting as hard as I could. He grabbed my chest and it was like I was bread dough he was kneading it and it hurt, it hurt more than just about anything else. I thought I saw something shiny glint in the light and I could feel him ripping off my clothes (damn that cheap fabric) and I thought I felt something metal near my head. “GO AWAY!” I kicked again and I guess I hit his groin because he grunted and curled up like he was hurt. At any rate, he wasn’t on top of me anymore, so I braced myself against a wall and tried to get my breath back. My shirt was all torn, but I wasn’t about to worry about that. Anyways, I know shortcuts through the woods. I just took a deep breath and ran for my life. I could hear the man shouting behind me and I was scared that he’d follow me and kill me. Anyways, women aren’t supposed to fight back. So I ran to Dolora’s, because where else could I go? I have nowhere else.

“Dolora! Please open the door!” One of my legs began to give way and I realized it was broken. I have no idea how I even made it to their house. 

Dolora opened the door right away and asked, “Dianna dear? What’s wrong?”

I ran inside and slammed the door. I stumbled into the kitchen and collapsed on the floor, leaning against the wall. “I…I don’t know…”

“Dianna dear? What happened? Why’s your shirt all ripped up? Dianna?”

“There was a man…”

“Oh my goodness…Dianna…”

“I got away.”

“Thank heaven. But you’re hurt!”

“I’m fine.”

“No, sit still. I’m getting bandages.”

“But…”

“No buts. You stay right where you are.”

“Where’re Simonn and Sigmun?” I don’t know why I asked, but I was such a mess that I wasn’t thinking straight. 

“Simonn’s reading. I’m sure Sigmun’s outside somewhere,” Dolora said absent-mindedly, picking some herbs from her cupboard. She had a look of focus on her face as she plucked a few jars out of her herb cabinet. “He’ll be back soon. I sent Sigmun out to check the berry bushes. That’s not important. ” Then she saw me try to stand up to help her. “Dianna, I mean it. Stay right where you are or you’ll make the bleeding worse.”

“Bleeding?!”

“Don’t worry, it’s just a little cut.”

I moved my hand to my head and I felt blood dripping from a cut on my forehead. I don’t even remember how that happened, though I seem to remember a sharp, shining knife. Did he have a knife? I don’t know. “Dolora, I’m bleeding a lot!” Not to mention breathing hard and fast like I’d just been drowned.

“Don’t panic, Dianna dear. You’ll be fine.” She called, “Simonn! Go get bandages and a bucket of water now!”

Simonn ran in a second later (I guess he wasn’t going to question her, considering that I’d shouted about how I was bleeding) and I was still sitting on the floor with all that blood in my eyes and hair and mouth. I heard someone drop something and I guess it was Simonn because I think Dolora was still in the other room. But I heard Simonn set down the water and I saw him run over to me and cover his mouth with one hand in shock. “Dianna? What happened?”

“Simonn, I need to clean that cut.”

“Right. Uh…sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. Water?”

“Right here, Dolora.” She cleaned up my cut and checked me for injuries, of which there were plenty.

“Broken leg. Sprained wrist. Bandages?”

Simonn handed her the whole bundle of them. “This’ll hurt just a touch,” Dolora said. She wrapped my wrist and I was about to tell her that it was fine, it didn’t hurt so much, when she set to work on my leg (she always does this sort of quick wrapping to keep injuries clean until she can figure out everything that’s broken). I winced and bit my lip because it hurt and I didn’t want to cry out. I saw Dolora wince, too. 

Of course Sigmun chose that moment to come home. “There’re plenty of flowers, Mama! I think there’ll be lots of berries.”

“Sigmun, go get more bandages and my clean thread and needle from the cupboard.”

I heard some crashing and general sounds of that sort of clumsiness that comes from fear and I assumed he just wasn’t going to question her. She had that scary tone I heard once when we were ten and I came over and Simonn had managed to fall out of a tree (it’s a talent of his) and she ordered me to get a bucket of water. I’ve heard it other times, too, but never directed at someone because of me.

Dolora gave me some mix of herbs and had me sit still so she could figure out where the break was in my leg and while she was in the middle of that, someone knocked on the door. I was terrified because for all I knew, it was the horrible man who did this to me and I was just so afraid. Sigmun stood to answer the door and it wasn’t that man, luckily. It was a different man, almost as bad.

“Hello, does someone by the name of Maryam live here?”

“Yes, why?”

“I’m from the palace—”

“She’s busy. Please come back later.”

“I am from the palace!”

“Well, someone’s been attacked and she’s caring for her. You’ll have to come back in a little while.”

“Excuse me—”

“My best friend has been horribly injured. Do you have a letter? If so, I can take it. If not, you will have to come back.”

“I don’t care about the state of your little friend’s health, this is important crown business.”

“Sigmun, come in here and finish bracing Dianna’s leg, will you? The break is in the middle of her shin. I’ll deal with this… ‘business’, whatever it is.”

Sigmun walked back over by me and sat next to me and took my hand and said, “It’s alright, Dianna. It’ll be alright.”

“I’m fine, Sigmun. Don’t worry.”

“If that were true, you wouldn’t need all these bandages and things.”

I had to admit that he was right, but I didn’t want him worrying.

I heard Dolora talking to the man in a very curt, irritated tone. “What do you want?”

“Important crown business.”

“Clearly. What?”

“There will be an inspection of this village in three weeks’ time. It would be beneficial for you to make your home presentable.”

“How lovely. Now leave; I have business to attend to.”

“Of what sort?”

“I believe my son told you. My daughter needs medical attention and, as a doctor, I am qualified.”

“A doctor?”

“Yes. I have work to do.”

“How can you be a doctor?”

“With a good deal of research and practice. Now, leave. This is my house and I will choose who may interrupt my work.”

I suppose the palace man realized that Dolora wasn’t going to relent, because he left and Dolora closed the door behind him. She walked back into the room where I was and sighed. “Sorry about all that, Dianna dear. How’s your head?”

“What happened?” Sigmun asked, sounding shocked. I guess he’d been taking in what the palace man was saying earlier, or he guessed I was.

Dolora finished wrapping my leg and shot him a glare. “What is it?” he asked.

“Wait until I finish all the dressings.”

Sigmun nodded and wrapped his other hand around mine, too. Dolora threaded the needle she uses for stitches and she told me to close my eyes and she stitched up the cut and I winced every time the needle poked my skin, but my eyes were still half-open and I saw her wince every time I did. She finished the stitches and wrapped the cut with some salve. “Right. If anything starts bleeding again, come straight to me. And you’re not going home tonight.”

“But I can make it, really.”

“You broke your leg, Dianna dear. You’re staying right here for a few days, until I can make you crutches and that cut heals up properly. I’m going to go mix something up for blood loss and then make you some chicken soup and tea.” She stood and went to her cupboard of herbs and other things.

“What happened?” Sigmun asked again, everything about him seeming to radiate concern.

“I was just walking home, really. I don’t think I was doing anything wrong. I took a shortcut through the alley to meet you all here and there was this man and he threw me down and he had a knife…” I choked on the thickness in my throat, but I still managed to talk. “I got away…I kicked him. But he started chasing me and I came here and…I don’t even know how I got here.”

“Oh, Dianna.” Sigmun hugged me tightly and didn’t let go for a long time. When he finally did, Simonn hugged me just as tightly and they both looked so sad. It was about then that I remembered that for all practical purposes, I wasn’t really wearing a shirt and I started blushing scarlet and I had this urge to cover my chest. But I was so tired and so sore and so hurt that I just stopped caring.

Dolora came back and added another salve to the cut. She wrapped it again and had Sigmun carry me to the couch. “Now, Dianna dear, I’d advise just some soup tonight. Be careful with yourself until you’re fully healed. The break wasn’t complete, as far as I can tell, so I set it; it’ll take about six weeks to heal completely. As for your wrist, I’ll give you some ice if I can find some. Make sure to keep it up high. I’ll give you something for the pain and it should heal in about three or four weeks. You can stay here as long as you need. I’ll make you some crutches tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Dolora. I’ll pay you back for this, I promise.”

“Don’t worry about that, dear.”

“But really—”

“I said not to worry and I meant it. Now stay here; I’m going to go get dinner ready.”

Sigmun and Simonn came to sit next to me and they didn’t say anything. I didn’t really want them to say anything; I just wanted to rest.

I tried to eat dinner, but I vomited it all up again. I didn’t move from the couch because Dolora wouldn’t let me, so I just wrapped a blanket as tightly as I could around me, and even then I didn’t feel any warmer. I feel awful. I don’t know what I did wrong to deserve this. What did I do? Is it because of Mother? Is this my punishment for letting her down? Or is it because I’m not what a woman is supposed to be? Is that it?

It’s late and I’m so glad I keep my journal in my satchel now because I need to write at times like this. I think I ought to get to sleep, though. Maybe I’ll heal faster that way.

 

14 March 1614

I had a horrible nightmare last night. I don’t know what I was expecting. It was awful, I don’t even know what was happened. I was just afraid, and then once I woke up, I was too afraid to move or speak, as much as I wanted to talk to Dolora. I was just so afraid.

I’m still afraid, though. I mean, I keep thinking I’ve seen something moving out of the corner of my eye, but when I turn, there’s nothing there. I can’t focus on anything, I just can’t. I haven’t been sleeping so much, either, possibly because I feel like my heart is always pounding and partly because of the nightmares. But I’m so tired…

We were talking today, Sigmun and I, and he got very upset, pacing the room and everything. Dolora wouldn’t let me stand up (because she was making crutches all day), so I sat on the couch. She also gave me a spare shirt and skirt to wear, for which I’m very grateful.

“We should report him to the guards.”

“Sigmun…”

“I mean it. He’s a criminal and he hurt you. Unless you’re not okay with it? Because if that’s it, that’s fine too. I just think we should report him to the guards.”

“Sigmun, you don’t understand. He was a guard.”

“What?!”

“He was a guard,” I repeated. 

“Well, then we should tell a different guard. He can’t do that just because he’s a guard!”

“Sigmun, just leave it. It’s not that big of a deal.” Yes it is. “It’s probably my fault.”

“No it’s not! How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“No it’s not! You were walking home, for heaven’s sake! You shouldn’t have to be afraid when you’re walking home!” He grabbed my shoulders and looked my right in the eyes. “You haven’t done anything wrong, Dianna. You did absolutely nothing to deserve any of this. You’re an amazing person and you have done nothing to justify this. No one has ever deserved anything like this. Okay?”

“Okay, jeez.”

“I mean it.”

I couldn’t really think of anything to say to that. Because…I guess, maybe, he was right. I was just walking. There’s nothing wrong with walking home. I wasn’t committing a crime, and I still think being a criminal doesn’t mean one deserves that. I mean…even if I was doing something wrong, did I deserve something like that? I don’t think so. I…I can’t really think of a reason I would be at fault, now that I’m in full control of my mind.

What if it wasn’t? What if it wasn’t my fault? It’s hard to believe, but…maybe.

 

15 March 1614

I was curious today and I asked him what he’d thought when he came home and I was lying there all bloody. I want to know if he cares, because I’m so afraid that they’ll just abandon me somewhere and then it’ll happen all over again. 

“Honestly? Something along the lines of, ‘That much blood should not be on the outside of a person, oh my goodness, what happened.’”

“Really?”

“What else could I possibly have been thinking?”

“I don’t know.”

“My second thought was something like, ‘Oh my goodness, she’s dead, she’s dead, dammit, she’s dead,’ sort of in a loop. And then, ‘Oh thank heaven she’s not dead but look at her shirt and that massive cut on her head what the hell happened please don’t be what I think it is, please, please don’t be what I think it is.’ I mean, I was kind of panicking.”

“I was busy trying not to die.”

“That sounds like an appropriate reaction.”

“At least I have crutches now, so I can head home later.”

“Are you seriously planning on walking home today?”

“Yes. I can make it and I don’t want to keep taking food.”

“You’re not being a burden! You’ve got a broken leg; you shouldn’t be walking two miles back home. I don’t know a lot about medicine, but that much I do know.”

“You don’t have to pretend I’m not being a pain in the neck. I’m taking up space and food; I can make it home fine.”

“I don’t want to be weird and controlling, but are you kidding me? You can’t walk two miles in your condition; those stitches will reopen and your leg won’t last. Anyways, has anyone ever given any indication that you’re being a pain? Because you’re not, I swear.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Sigmun. I’d rather you didn’t.”

“And I’m not.”

“Look, I’ll head home tonight and I’ll come back tomorrow like I have every day for twelve years.”

“Mama won’t let you, you know. If you won’t listen to me, will you listen to her?”

“Probably not.”

“If you insist on going home, I’m walking you.”

“Sigmun,” I protested. “I’m fine.”

“Yes, most people are fine while recovering from being nearly killed. It’s been all of two days, and Mama said you shouldn’t even leave the house for a week.”

“Yet here I am, right next to the creek. Which very pointedly is not in the house.”

“I had to follow you here! You left on your own with those crutches and I had to guess where you’d gone by which trails lead somewhere closer than half a mile. I thought you’d get stuck! I was worried!”

“You found me, didn’t you? And I’m fine.” I was trying to act normal, I didn’t want them to worry. 

“Love, when I got here, you were just getting here. And I left...what, an hour after you did?”

“Fine,” I said, because he was right, I wouldn’t make it two miles home. It took me about an hour and half to walk half a mile. “I’ll stay just one more day.”

“I guess that’s the best I’ll get for now. Want help getting back?”

I kind of did, but I didn’t want to be touched. “No.” 

“Alright…”

I walked all the way there very slowly on my crutches. Sigmun walked right next to me, even though I was walking about as fast as a snail. Dolora was furious (well, that sort of furious she gets when one of us does something dangerous and she’s worried) with us when we got back and asked me what I’d been thinking, I was going to get hurt. She made me swear to stay for another week in case I’d damaged myself and not to leave the house or go up the stairs.

I guess I can understand that. I don’t even know why I left the house in the first place.

 

16 March 1614

I’m going to have a huge scar on my forehead. I guess I’ll have to cover it with my hair, because I can’t look nice if there’s a massive, ugly scar on my face. I don’t like the look of scars, and makeup won’t cover it. 

And I ought to make dinner, to at least try to pay back Dolora for all she does for me.

 

16 March, later

I had to put on more salve over the stitches and I was having trouble because to look in the mirror, I had to stand up, but I couldn’t because of the crutches, so I was trying to lean on one crutch and also put on the salve when Sigmun joined me and said, “Let me get that for you, love.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re barely standing up.”

“Details.”

“I’ve put salve on cuts before. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Yeah, the other man took care of that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“Well, he certainly does.”

“And you’re not him, so you don’t have to apologize. Just help me get the salve on.”

“Alright. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Pass me the bandages?”

“I’ve got it, love.” 

I shrugged and stood up on my crutches to walk to the kitchen to make dinner as a favor to Dolora.

“What’re you doing?”

“I’m going to make dinner.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve all been so nice, and I intend to return the favor.”

“That’s very kind, but maybe wait until you can stand on your own two feet?”

“There you go, obsessing over details like standing again.”

“I worry about you a lot, Deedee,” he said. “You’re gonna get hurt.”

“It’s a bit late for that.”

“I mean hurt more. I’ll make dinner, and you can rest and heal.”

“I’ll read, thank you very much. Or sew something. Something without buttonholes.” I hate sewing buttonholes. 

He laughed and helped me to the library. “See, you’re always saying that you don’t know why I bother with you, but what I want to know is why you bother with me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m illegitimate, I’m poor, I’m short, I’m certainly not handsome, I may be clever but not like Simonn or someone, I can be pretty reckless sometimes, I—”

“Oh, just stop talking.”

“What?”

“First of all, I’m shorter than you. I don’t care about that anyways. Second, I couldn’t care less about how much money you have. I’m not exactly rich, either. And anyways, I’ve known you most of my life and I know it doesn’t matter that you’re illegitimate. And you’re very clever and I think you’re the handsomest man I’ve ever met. And so what if you’re a bit reckless sometimes? Life’s more fun that way.”

He was blushing a painful-looking shade of red by the time I was done. “Thanks, Dianna.”

“You’re welcome.” 

“I still have to make dinner, though.”

“Fiiiine,” I said. “But don’t take too long. I’ll get lonely.”

“I can’t let that happen.” He grinned. I doubt any of them realize how much it means to me that they are my family. I’ve never really had a family otherwise and it just means so much to me that they are mine. 

Oh, and I had four different nightmares last night. One of them made me relive everything that happened that day once I woke up. I’m terrified of what will happen once I go back into the village. What if another man attacks me? What if that man finds me again? What if someone does tell the guards? What will I do? 

I’m scared. 

 

17 March 1614

 

Today I was sitting on the couch, reading a book and not paying much attention to the world, and Sigmun reached for my arm and pulled me up and I almost screamed.

“Are you alright? Dianna?” When that awful man grabbed at my chest, he left a sore, purple and blue bruise and it hurts to raise my left arm.

“I—I’m fine…”

“What is it?”

“Just a little bruise…”

“On your arm?”

“No…”

“Dianna, did he—?”

“He bruised my chest. It’s just a little swollen, don’t worry.”

“Do you want some ice? I bet Mama has some around here somewhere.”

“I’m fine, for heaven’s sake…”

“In the twelve years I’ve known you, ‘I’m fine’ has never been the truth.”

“It’s just a bruise. It’ll heal up soon.”

“If you’re sure. But really, if you want some ice or willow or something--”

“No thanks, love.”

“If you’re sure.” 

“Of course I’m sure.” I wasn’t going to tell him how upset it makes me. I also wasn’t going to tell him that I had four more nightmares last night, or that I just keep reliving it, over and over and over. I don’t even know why. It just keeps happening. I want to tell Dolora, but I don’t know what she’ll say and I’m afraid it means there’s something wrong with me. On the other hand, I’m not sure I can stand one more day of these nightmares and reliving it and how scared I am. 

 

18 March 1614

I told Dolora because I had five nightmares last night and I just couldn’t cope with it all. She told me that first of all, nothing was wrong with me, and second of all, it was a good thing I told her. 

“Dear, it’s normal to have nightmares. There are a lot of herbs that can help.”

“Really?”

“Of course, dear. Do you want to tell me about them?”

“I…I don’t know.” 

“Either way, it’s fine. But it’s important to know that you’re safe here. I won’t let anything hurt you, dear.” 

“It’s just…they’re terrifying. They feel so real…”

“I know, little love. I know.” She hugged me and I wanted to cry again, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to start crying again, because I feel like I always end up relying on Dolora and I don’t want to be such a child when I’m eighteen years old. “Dianna, if you write them down, it might help.” 

“Alright…”

“Dear, talk to me any time you want to. Now, would you like something for the nightmares?” 

“Yes please.”

“Alright. Try some valerian tonight, and a cup of chamomile tea. If it doesn’t work or if it gets worse, you can try something else.” 

“Thank you.”

“Any time, dear.” Dolora stood and picked a couple jars out of her cabinet and mixed a few things, and then put them on the stove. “If you’d like to try writing, you can borrow a paper and pen.”

“It’s alright.”

“Alright.”

She looked at me with concern, but she kept cooking. I can tell she’s worried. 

At any rate, I thought I’d try to write the nightmares down. Not here, of course. I thought I’d like to write them on other paper and then throw those in the fire. I don’t want to be reminded of this when I’m older and I reread this journal. 

I hope the valerian works. I’m afraid I’ll have more nightmares tonight, but I’m more afraid that I won’t be able to stop having nightmares. 

 

19 March 1614

The valerian worked a little. I only had three last night. But I’m still shaky on my feet and I’m still terrified of what will happen once I go into the village, which I’ll have to eventually. I hope Sigmun and Simonn won’t mind coming with me. I don’t want to face anything right now without my best friends, especially a prospect so terrifying. 

We read today and I think I’m healing somewhat. I’ve heard it said that having a family and friends makes one more resilient to things like this and I hope so, because I think I have a family and friends. 

I think a lot about telling the guards. I know nothing would be done, because nothing is ever really done, but I’m just afraid that since he is a guard, he’d find me and try to get revenge. But it might be nice to get some sort of ending to this. 

I doubt it would do any good. Maybe I shouldn’t. Sigmun says I should, but he’s irritatingly optimistic and he thinks it might do some good. Simonn says I should, but he also doesn’t understand how scared I am. Dolora just looks concerned and says I should never risk my health, and whichever option feels better for my health of mind and body is the one I should take. 

I think I’m too scared to tell. 

 

20 March 1614

Sigmun sat next to me on the couch today while I was all wrapped in blankets, because I still feel cold all the time, and he asked, “Hey, Dianna?”

“Yeah?” 

“Honest answer. Are you okay?”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“Not at all.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about? I’m terrified of going into the village, I’m afraid if I tell the guards he’ll find me and try for some sort of revenge, I have at least three nightmares a night, I just keep reliving the whole mess over and over to think if there was anything I could have done, and I’m freezing cold all the time. I feel like shit.” 

“I just thought I’d ask.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “I just…I’m scared.”

“There’s nothing to be scared of here.”

“I know that. But outside this house, and I suppose the woods, the world is frightening. And it’s awful.” 

“I bet you could defend yourself. You stood up to the other man.”

I shivered and pulled the blankets tighter. “Please don’t talk about him.”

“Okay, I won’t. I still think you’re strong enough to fight back.” I hate sometimes that he has such faith in all of us, because I know someday he will be let down. But it’s nice that someone believes in me. 

“Not in this condition.”

“Once you’re better. I mean, bad stuff happens. But sometimes the best thing to do is just learn something and then move on.”

“You think I’m not trying!?”

“I didn’t mean that,” he said, holding up his hands. “I just mean that you’re really strong and this isn’t your whole life. It’s just part of it. And there’s thirty, forty years left for you to live. So I just mean…it’s just one thing in life. Not all of it.”

“Sure feels like all of it.” I was still shivering horribly. I still couldn’t get warm. 

“Well, it’s not. Neither was living with your mother, or our visit to the city, or any of it. A life is made of lots of parts, and this is just a little one.” He paused. “Do you want some tea?” 

“Tea?” I said skeptically. 

“Chamomile tea. It helps sometimes, especially if you haven’t been sleeping.”

“How do you know I haven’t been sleeping?”

“Just a guess.” 

I shrugged. “Alright, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course I don’t mind. You’re my best friend.”

“I think rather more than that!”

“What, do the last eleven years of friendship not count?”

“Of course they do! But I think the past two years count, too.”

“Well, I’m still making you tea.” 

I rolled my eyes, but I let him make tea because I thought it might help. 

I ate a whole bowl of stew today and I only felt like throwing up a little, so that’s a definite improvement.

 

21 March 1614

I wish there was something to help me sleep though the night. I haven’t in a while because whenever I wake up, I’m too afraid to sleep again. And I still can’t get warm, no matter what I do. I just keep shivering. I’d like to hug someone, because then maybe I could get warm, but I’m kind of afraid of being touched right now. I know it’s crazy, but I’m afraid that if someone touches me, they’ll hurt me, or I’ll just end up reliving this whole mess one more time. 

At least I’ve convinced myself that it wasn’t my fault. 

 

22 March 1614

Sigmun tried to hug me yesterday while I was buried in blankets and I almost jumped out of my skin. 

“No, don’t touch me!” 

“Jeez, I’m sorry, I just thought a hug would help…”

“No, it’s just…I’m afraid,” I admitted. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Well, if you don’t want me to touch you, I won’t.” 

“It’s not that—I mean—jeez, I can’t even get my head in order right now…”

“I know,” he said simply. “But tell me when I can try to help comfort you with a hug, because I’m not really sure what else to do.” He looked unsure and worried. 

“It’s alright,” I said. “Just…” I curled in on myself. “I’m cold.”

“In more ways than one.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Mama says a cold body means a cold mind.” 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning if you really can’t get warm, it’s because you’re afraid, or sad, or something.”

“That makes all sorts of sense.” 

He nodded. “Yeah.”

I sat there shivering for a while before I said, “Uh, a hug would be nice about now.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“Very much so.”

He hugged me over the layers of blankets and said, “Is this helping?”

“A little.”

I took off one of the blankets before I went to bed because I didn’t feel quite so cold. 

 

23 March 1614

I just read today. I read a sweet romance book. And I only had three nightmares, and none of them were screaming ones. Also Dolora helped me walk around some today. She said if I just sit there forever, I’ll forget how to walk. So, strange as it felt, I practiced walking. 

Also I wasn’t so afraid when Sigmun hugged me today and I wasn’t afraid when Simonn hugged me, either. But I still dread the village, and the guards, and just about everything outside Dolora and Sigmun’s home and the woods. And even a few things in the woods, but just the usual. 

 

24 March 1614

I walked a little more today and I guess I felt a little better. I mean, I didn’t almost jump out of my skin when Sigmun sat right next to me and we read a book together with Simonn, too. 

I’ve been thinking about going to the village. Dolora said she might have to send us to get herbs and fabric and all that and I’m worried, because first of all Simonn doesn’t know anything about fabric with all the time he spends caring for his siblings so he’ll insist I go, and second of all we can’t run all the errands with just two. Believe me, Simonn and I tried once. 

They’ll make me go and I’m terrified. I’ll get hurt again, I just know it. I suppose if I protest enough, they won’t make me, but I rather have to go. I’m afraid. 

 

25 March 1614

I ate my three square meals today and I walked to the creek and back with Dolora’s help. She’s so kind and she’s so much more my mother than anyone else that it hurts me to see her so worried for me. But I’m making progress and I physically feel better, at any rate. I haven’t been needing so many blankets and I haven’t really felt so nauseous. I mean, my nightmares haven’t been getting any better, but I don’t usually wake up crying. 

Sigmun hugged me today and he didn’t let go for a long time and when I asked him why, he said, “I was so worried when this first happened that you’d never get better and now you’re letting me hug you so this is making up for the week and a half when I couldn’t hug you.” He said it all in one breath, and I barely caught most of it. 

“It’s alright, I’m fine, I promise.”

“Could I…could I maybe kiss you?” 

“I guess so…” I gave him a quick kiss and it wasn’t so bad, not like I was dreading it would be. I don’t know quite I was so afraid, but I was. Anyways, then I helped make dinner and Dolora said if my leg doesn’t hurt too much, I can walk for just a little bit without crutches. 

I guess I’m getting better. 

 

26 March 1614

My whole body ached when I woke up today and I realized that I’d been thrashing around in my sleep and hit my bad wrist on something. I feel so ridiculous. 

I can’t write much more today. Dolora wants me to do some “exercises” or something with my healing wrist and do some walking with and without crutches so I can make sure I don’t lose any functionality in either my wrist or my leg. Doctors have to know a lot more than I thought. 

 

27 March 1614

Today was an alright day, but Dolora’s exercises tired me out and I think I might just sleep for the rest of the night, as long as I can. I want to sleep forever, and I want to sleep right through all my nightmares so I wake up and forget them. I sometimes realize I’ve had a nightmares that I slept through because I wake up with this awful feeling of dread and fear and sometimes anger. 

I’m just going to sleep.

 

28 March 1614

I forgot the valerian. I forgot the bloody valerian. I had five nightmares last night, each worse than the last and I wrote them all down on three pieces of paper and threw them all in the fire. It helped, somewhat, but I’m never doing that again. I don’t want to forget it. Dolora said it might not work forever, and my body will probably work around it eventually. But it works for now, and I hope and pray it works until this new onslaught of nightmares wears off. The nightmares from one particular event usually take a few months to go away. 

I hope these go away quicker. 

 

29 March 1614

I had the valerian last night, along with chamomile tea, and I only had two nightmares. I woke up breathing hard, but not crying. And I did all those damn exercises again, and I’m feeling a little better. It’s nice having Sigmun and Simonn around to remind me that I’m safe and that I’m fine and that it’s not my fault and that there wasn’t anything I could’ve done and that it was just a thing that happened, not my whole life. Which Sigmun reminds me almost every day, which actually helps. Maybe I’m crazy. But it’s nice being reminded that I’m not a failure and I didn’t mess up and it wasn’t my fault when I was told that for twelve years. 

Anyways, I’m not so afraid of going to the village. I can face anything with my best friends at my side. 

 

30 March 1614

I’m very upset now, because today Dolora sent us to go into the village (but only if I went with Sigmun and Simonn) and we met Grantt and Orvill and Candas. I still need my crutches to get around, unfortunately.

“What happened?” Candas asked immediately. “Did you fall out of a tree or somethin’?”

“I was attacked,” I tossed off.

“Like…by a man?” Candas pressed.

“Yeah,” I said. I didn’t really want to talk about it. 

“Well, that’s too bad,” Candas said, and I thought she was going to let it rest. “Were you drinking or somefin?” (She has a very heavy accent of a sort I’ve never determined.)

“No!”

“Well, where were you walking?” Orvill added. It sounded very silly, because he stammers his w’s. And his v’s sometimes, too. What

“Sheppard’s Alley. Why?”

“Well, you were walking there, putting yourself in danger. You were kind of asking for it.”

“I was walking home!”

“You were walking through an alley. I mean, what were you wearing?”

“This,” I said, gesturing to my normal clothes. I wear almost the same thing every day, it’s really only the colors that change. 

“Come on, that’s so revealing,” Orvill said. “You were practically asking for it.”

“I was running errands and wearing normal clothes! How is that ‘asking for it’? How is anything ever ‘asking for it’?” I was very upset, because I’ve finally managed to believe that it’s not my fault and here they were, throwing it all back in my face again. And no one deserves to be hurt, ever, I don’t care what they’ve done or what they’re doing! 

“You were walking through an alley and wearing that. Come on,” Orvill said.

“I took a shortcut! What’s wrong with a bloody shortcut?”

“I bet you were drinking anyways.” 

“He might’ve been,” I muttered darkly.

“Then it’s not his fault, he was drunk,” Orvill said.

“So if I was drinking, it’s my fault, but if he was drinking, it’s not his fault? How does that work?”

“Because he was…uh…” I saw Orvill’s confidence falter, just for a moment, so I grabbed onto it. 

“Do you have an actual answer or should I just listen to you stammering on forever? Because I have things to do and a mind to do them with.” I’ve never been that confident of something in my life. I’ve barely even spoken back to people, except Mother. Where did that sudden burst of self-confidence come from? Where did it go? For that matter, where did the crippling fear that it was my fault go?

Anyway, Simonn came around the corner and tapped me on the shoulder. “We should be getting home,” he said.

“Why, what is it?”

“Dolora asked us to help her find herbs, remember?”

“Right. See you,” I said to Candas and Grantt and Orvill. Grantt just stared. (It’s all he ever does. He’s unsettling.)

“What was that all about?” Simonn asked.

“They said it was my fault.”

“Then they’re idiots. We’ve always known that.”

“Says who?”

“Says the fact that they’re blaming you. No reasonable person would do that.”

“Besides the princess, the son of the army general, and the soon-to-be duke.”

“Just because their parents are in positions of power, doesn’t mean they’re necessarily that clever. Hey, I think I’m quite clever, and my father is a farmhand.”

“So you don’t think it’s my fault.”

“Of course not. That’s like saying it’s someone’s fault if their house gets robbed.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time. D’you wanna take the willow or the rosemary?”

“Willow.” We split up based on who’s collecting which herbs.

At any rate, it’s certainly nice to know that Simonn and Sigmun and Dolora don’t blame me for it.

 

31 March 1614

I actually felt good today. I didn’t feel like I was dying and I wasn’t so afraid, and I only had two and a half nightmares (I woke up in the middle of one of them). And the exercises didn’t hurt so much. And I was only a little afraid of the entire world. Just a little. (Alright, kind of a lot.)

I hope I’m not afraid forever. I don’t want to be afraid for the rest of my life.


	19. Fears, Rational and Learned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah's in trouble while Dianna recovers.

1 April 1614

Today was not a good day. I don’t know what happened, but I had such an awful nightmare and I woke up sobbing and I was just terrified all day and I had to ask Sigmun to not sit so close because I felt so sick to my stomach. And I didn’t eat much, either. I just felt awful again and I thought I might vomit. I hate this. I thought I was going to be okay! I don’t want to be so scared for my whole life. 

 

2 April 1614

I felt a bit better today. I was cold, but not so cold that I needed more than two blankets. I read all day and I ate a little stew and a little mashed potatoes. Dolora still seems worried, but I think less so than before. She had that concerned look on her face, but less like she was scared I’d die and more like she was worried because I’m so scared. 

I don’t want to go into the village again, but I need to sew something to replace the skirt and shirt that got all ripped up. Normally I’d just sew on a couple patches, but those clothes are full of bad memories and too blood-soaked to fix. And since I only have three shirts—now two—and four skirts—now three—I really need to make new ones. At least my petticoats and my bodice and all the rest of my underclothes are in good enough shape. 

My train of thought is running wild. I wish I could distract myself like this, but I can’t. I can’t distract myself from how scared I am sometimes, and I know it. 

 

3 April 1614

When I woke up this morning, I was alone. There was no one in the house and I was nervous. 

“Hello?” Nothing. “Hello?”

There was nothing again, and so I stood up and started looking around then I couldn’t stand anymore and I woke up for real breathing hard like I’d just run a mile. 

“Whoa, Dianna, are you okay?” Simonn asked. 

“What? Where…Yeah, I’m fine. Just another nightmare…” 

“Okay…” He shrugged and sat next to me and said, “Let’s read Principia today.”

“Ugh, fine. You could be a physics teacher.”

“If only.” 

It was then I remembered that none of us can ever really be a teacher, or can ever really have the sort of professional job we’d all like. I don’t think any of us could pay for university even if they did let in a woman, an illegitimate child, or a poor son of a farmhand. 

It’s rather depressing. 

 

4 April 1614

I didn’t feel so bad today, so I walked to the creek with Sigmun and Simonn and we sat with our feet in the water and just talked things over. Sigmun talked about how he wants to get a job, but no one will hire him because he doesn’t have a father. Simonn talked about he worries about his siblings because they’re pretty much his children, and his parents because they’re stressed and stressed people are more likely to get sick. I’m just scared all the time so I told them that, and also how much I worry that I’ll never get a job or my mother will come back or…I don’t know. I just worry a lot. 

Sigmun was sweet about it, and Simonn said that even if my mother did come back, I could just slap her and walk away. He’s like that. I don’t think I could, is the thing. I’m afraid. 

 

5 April 1614

I had a decent day today, I guess. I knitted a hat and read a book and ate three meals and Dolora looked so happy when I told her I felt fine and I could walk fine. She’s just so loving and I feel like she actually cares about me. 

Looking back at the past few days, I haven’t been harping on it so much. My nightmares are…well, horrific and painful and terrifying, but my daytime hours feel a little less burdened. 

 

6 April 1614

I felt alright today and I walked more than I ever thought I would again. I mean, I never even thought I’d be able to breathe again, let alone walk. I never thought I’d feel safe again, but I do. At least, I feel safe in Dolora’s house and in the woods. I’m scared of going to the village, but not quite as scared as I was. 

Dolora’s going to send us into the village soon. I know I have to face how scared I am at some point, but I also don’t want to put myself in danger and I don’t ever want to see that horrible man again. And I’m scared that the other guards might be like him, or that any of the men in the street will be like him. It’s just…maybe I’m crazy, but pretty much any man I run into could be just as bad as him and I’m scared, I’m so scared. 

Oh, and I found an old, old book today and I read it through and I realized how much has changed since then. Not enough, but a lot. 

 

7 April 1614

Well, Dolora sent us into the village today. I didn’t need my crutches at all, and my wrist feels alright. The cut’s healed, but the scar is still red and irritated. It’s right along my hairline, so it’s not noticeable right away, but it’s…there. Right where I can feel it. I guess it’ll never really go away. 

Sigmun and Simonn went with me to the village, and they both stayed with me the whole time because I was nervous. I felt a bit safer, but I was also glad I had my friends with me to help me. I don’t want to be alone. 

 

8 April 1614

Someone knocked on the door today in the late afternoon and I answered it because Dolora was boiling bandages and it was a man I’d never met and I wanted to run away, but I didn’t. I stood my ground and asked, “What do you want?”

“I am the village inspector,” the man said. He had a sharp, precise voice, the way people who have never been to university but want people to think they have been talk. He was also carrying a packet of papers. “I am on the authority of our blessed King James the First. May I come in?”

“Of course,” I said, and I let him in. It must’ve been the inspection the other palace man was talking about in March. 

“Are you the lady of the house?”

“No.”

“Who is?”

“Dolora Maryam. She’s boiling bandages.” 

“And the gentleman?”

“There is none.”

“Do any men live here?”

“Dolora’s son Sigmun.”

“So may I speak to the gentleman of the house?”

“I’ll go get Dolora.”

He started to protest, but I left before he could. 

“Dolora!”

“What is it, Dianna dear?” 

“The…village inspector is here.” 

“Well, tell him I told you to take care of it.”

“Alright…”

The man was sitting uncomfortably in his chair when I returned. 

“I’ve been told to, I quote, ‘take care of it’, unquote,” I told him, sitting next to him. “What do you need to know from me?”

“Well, I would like to speak to the gentleman of the house.”

“And I’m all you’re going to get. What do you want?”

“Well…how many people live in this house?”

“Two.”

“Names?”

“Dolora Maryam and Sigmun Vantas.” 

“Then what are you doing here?”

“I was injured. Dolora Maryam is a doctor. I’m staying here until I’m healed. I’m Dianna Leijon and I live in the house on the outskirts of town. If you knock on the door of a house and no one’s there, that would be my house.”

He nodded stiffly and said, “And their professions?”

“Dolora Maryam is a doctor. Sigmun doesn’t work yet, but he’s looking.”

“Are any of the residents married?”

“No.”

“Are any of the residents betrothed?”

“No.”

“Have any of the residents ever spent time in prison?”

“No.”

“Have any of the residents ever committed a felony?”

“No.”

“What is the highest education level of the gentleman of the house?” 

“Very nontraditional, but literate in English, Latin, Greek, and French, and able in geometry and algebra.”

“And the average income?”

“You’ll have to ask Dolora. Are you going to ask about Dolora’s education?”

“She is the lady of the house, correct?”

“Yes.” 

“Was she educated at all?”

“Yes. She went to a girl’s school in the city for ten years, is literate in English, French, Russian, Greek, and Latin, is able in geometry and algebra, is a doctor and a midwife, and has taught Sigmun and Simonn and I to read and write.” 

“And…And…uh…” He looked down at his list. “Uh…what do you know of the laws?”

“Which ones? The ones that don’t let male doctors treat women, or the ones that prohibit murder, or the ones that allow a variety of crimes which are technically illegal?”

He fumbled again and then said, “The past kings?”

“Queen Elizabeth was our last monarch, I believe. She passed in 1603, correct?”

“Yes. Before her?” 

“King Philip.”

“And before him?”

“Queen Mary.”

“Before her?”

“I believe Edward the sixth.” 

“Yes, correct. I presume everyone in this residence knows this?”

“Correct.” I mean, everybody knows that. 

Just then, Dolora walked into the room that way she does, all elegant and intimidating. “Sir, you asked to speak to the head of the household?”

“I would like to speak to the gentleman of the house.”

“I am the head of household, so any questions you have, you may ask me. The only gentleman who lives here is my son.”

They talked for a while and I sat to the side and tried not to panic. 

He left and then I walked to the living room and collapsed on the couch, because I was exhausted from trying not to scream and run away from him. I don’t like the palace men, and he had the same uniform as that awful man. 

“Dear, are you alright?”

“I-I’m fine.”

“I’m so sorry, Dianna dear. I didn’t think it would take so long.”

“It’s alright. I…I just…I don’t know.” 

“It’s alright, my dear. Don’t worry about it. Don’t…Oh, it’s alright, my dear.” I’d started crying, just a little, because it’s just too much to handle sometimes. 

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Dianna dear.” 

I nodded and blinked a few times and then Dolora made me a cup of tea. I’m so glad she is in my life. 

 

9 April 1614

I felt better today. I didn’t think I’d ever feel better. Dolora told me to spend one more night at her house, and then I could go home. She said she’d give me chamomile tea and valerian to bring home to keep the nightmares away. I hope the worst nightmares never come back. I know they will, because they always do, but I’ve only been having one or two a night, and only a few of them make me wake up screaming or crying. 

I didn’t think feeling alright was really possible, but it’s certainly turning out to be. In fact, I think happiness someday might not be such a stretch anymore. 

 

10 April 1614

I went to the village on my own today. I was absolutely terrified and I thought I’d faint from how scared I was, but I went to the bakery and bought bread and I bought green material to make a nice dress for myself because I don’t have any nice clothes and because I want to sew something. And I was fine! I was shaking like a sapling in a summer storm, but I did it! I also went to Dolora and Sigmun’s and we read and studied some and I felt alright. 

 

11 April 1614

We picked berries today for preserves and Dolora looked at me with that strange heaviness behind her eyes and told me that whenever I needed more valerian or chamomile, I could have it. She went though her cabinet of medicines when a few sick people came to the door and I saw her rest her eyes on these few little jars of rare herbs from places like Africa and India where most people never go. I wonder why. 

 

12 April 1614

The path to Dolora and Sigmun’s didn’t seem quite so scary today, and I ate and slept fine, almost like I used to before…that. It’s been a month and I actually feel better. I hope that I’ll be alright. I’ve always believed that everything is alright in the end, but I don’t know when the end is and that makes it hard. 

 

13 April 1614

Simonn came by to Sigmun and Dolora’s today, where I still spend most of my days, and he had eyeglasses. 

“Did you guys know the trees have separate leaves? And you can see them all?” 

“Yes…” I said. Simonn just kept staring at things. “You have a pox mark right there.” He touched my left cheek, right where my most prominent pox mark is, and then said, “And your eyes are really green!”

“Yes, believe it or not, I knew that.” 

“Sorry. Sigmun! You have a lot of freckles! And…wow, I never noticed that scar, or…wow, you have a bump right there on your nose…”

“Simonn, are you drunk?” 

“No, I just got these glasses and I can see everything! I can read all the titles on the books from here and I can see all the leaves on the trees and I can see everyone’s faces and…hey, did you know you have a freckle on your left ear?”

“I did,” I said. “Surprisingly enough, I know what my own face looks like.” 

“Did you know that beans are all separate? You can see them each when you look at them! And…” He grabbed a random book and held it an arm’s length from his face. “I can read it! All the way from here!”

“You really need those eyeglasses, don’t you,” I said. 

“Yeah…” he said, staring at everything. It was kind of sweet, watching him watch the world. I can’t even imagine having vision like that. Simonn let me try on his glasses and they gave me a horrible headache. 

 

14 April 1614

I feel like I’m human again. I feel like I can breathe again, finally. I just feel like, after all this time being scared, I’m not so scared anymore. And the best way I can describe that is that I feel human. 

I’m feeling so good because today, when I went into the village (on my own, again, even though I was scared), I saw a guard (not the awful one) and I didn’t flinch, and I didn’t dodge away from people, and I didn’t have to sit down and breathe in the park because I was so afraid. I don’t know why, but I felt like myself again. I felt brave. It’s only been a month, but I feel alive again. I think the valerian helped. 

I suppose I should probably try to reduce the valerian, because Dolora’s right, it won’t work forever. But I don’t think the tea is so bad. I have tea before bed every night anyways. Chamomile isn’t that different from mint. 

 

15 April 1614

I went hunting today, even though my leg isn’t really fully healed yet, and I got an injured rabbit. I wasn’t expecting much more. And I made stew and bread and all that and I’m just happy that I got through my daily routine. I ate breakfast, visited Dolora and Sigmun and Simonn and had lunch there, went hunting, ate dinner, sewed, read, had tea, and went to bed. I did everything I do in a normal day and I’m alright and I’m still alive and I’m just so glad. 

I don’t quite feel so safe in my own house sometimes, though. I don’t like being alone. It feels cold. I mean, it is April, but my house feels cold and empty even with the fire lit (it went out when I was gone for almost a month, obviously). I feel like someone could come into my house and I wouldn’t know because I’m alone and I’m a heavy sleeper. So I made extra latches for the door and set up a rock on a string that will fall and wake me up if someone comes in. I don’t know if that’s bad for me, but I want to feel safe, and Dolora’s advice was to do what I could to feel safe. 

16 April 1614

I woke up with this heavy weight on my chest, as if something horrible was going to happen. Of course nothing did, but…I just had a horrible feeling about today. All my friends seemed quite on edge, too. Simonn seemed especially stressed. 

“Simonn? Are you alright?”

“I had a nightmare…” 

“Like…a future nightmare?”

“I don’t know. It was really blurry and…terrifying. Lot of blood, lot of pain…and then I couldn’t see. It was scary.”

“That sounds more like a run-of-the-mill nightmare,” I said. 

“How would you know?”

“Are you seriously questioning my knowledge of nightmares?”

“Fair point.” 

“Anyways, blood and pain and blindness happen all the time in my normal nightmares. It’s probably just stress or something,” I shrugged. 

“I sure hope so. It didn’t feel as real as my usual future dreams.”

“Usual? You said they were rare!” Sigmun added, closing the front door behind him. “I got berries, black raspberries.” 

“Oh, yummy,” I said. 

“Anyways, I guess…about every six months, in October and April, I have…I have a whole slew of the future dreams. Not all of them make sense. Hardly any of them make sense. But they’re…unpleasant.” 

“Sounds it.” 

“Yeah.” He sighed and rubbed his head. 

“Would valerian help?” I asked. 

“No.”

“How do you know?”

“Because drinking chamomile tea before bed just makes it worse. If chamomile makes it worse, then so will valerian root.” 

“If you’re sure,” I said. 

“I am very sure. Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure.” 

I hope Simonn’s alright. Nightmare are horrible enough without the added unpleasantness of them being the future. 

Oh, and I had less valerian last night and I was fine. I think if I just take less and less, I’ll be back to the normal one or two nightmares a night on my own without anything besides chamomile tea. 

 

17 April 1614

I went hunting again today and my leg is still incredibly painful, but at least I’m living. I’m still alive. I remind myself of that a lot these days and it’s helping, somewhat. I’m still alive, still breathing. I still have my house and my friends and whatever good parts of myself. I’m still alive. 

 

19 April 1614

I was tired yesterday after hunting, so I didn’t write. 

I’m feeling alright today, again. I was at Sigmun and Dolora’s yesterday and Sigmun kissed me and I didn’t feel like panicking, but I also didn’t kiss him back as hard as I normally would. I just don’t feel up to it. I kind of don’t feel like touching him that way at all. I guess I’m still kind of scared. 

 

22 April 1614

A letter came today from Hannah. It doesn’t sound good for her and her sisters. She sounds scared. I want to go rescue her, but she doesn’t know the name of the town and since they traveled for more than a day and she slept for a little while Eleanor carried her, she doesn’t know how to get there from here. The way she describes the trip, her father didn’t let them rest, so they took turns falling asleep and being carried. I’m worried for Hannah. Simonn looked absolutely sick and he paced and asked if maybe we could just go check all the villages nearby for her family. 

“What’ll we do, just knock on every door and say, ‘Hey, do you know that family with three daughters and a father? The Megidos? Yeah, have you seen them?’” I said. 

“Yes!” Simonn shot back. 

“Simonn, calm down and be reasonable. You’re supposed to be the logical one!”

“You know what? Science, and physics, and all that, it works great when the world is acting like it’s supposed to, when you don’t need to invent a new kind of math to compensate for air resistance and then argue about who invented calculus! It’s great when there’s no outside forces, or different surfaces, or anything else! But right now, people-force is making all the logic and all the calculations just fly right out the window!”

“People-force?” Sigmun asked. 

“You know what I mean!”

“You mean, perhaps, love?” I pointed out. 

“Yes! People-force! And people-force is messing up the calculations!”

“Well, pull people-force out. Assume ideal conditions. Isn’t that what you always say when you’re explaining physics to us?”

“Under ideal conditions, we’d write back and ask her to come back here because between the three of them, at least two were awake the whole time, so they could work there way back. Wait!”

“Alright, we’ll do that, then,” Sigmun said. 

“She might not leave,” I said. 

“Why not?” Simonn asked. 

“She just might not,” I said delicately. 

“Why on Earth would she not leave if her father is that bad?”

“Maybe she won’t leave because she can’t!” I snapped. “You two, you don’t understand it.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“Don’t understand how hard it is to really, properly leave when you’re caught in a situation like that! Sometimes you just can’t leave!” 

“Alright. But I’m still writing back,” Simonn said. 

“Of course. But she might not come. Just saying.”

“Alright…” 

Simonn looked worried, but wrote back. I hope Hannah leaves. I hope she gets out with her sisters and doesn’t stay like I did. I hope.

 

24 April 1614

I haven’t been feeling the need to write so much. I think that’s good. I guess I write more to sort out my thoughts than to get rid of the awful emotions I feel towards my mother and that’s certainly an improvement. When not wanting to scream constantly is an improvement, there’s something wrong. But at least I don’t want to scream. So there is that. 

 

25 April 1614

Simonn sent his letter to Hannah today and he seemed so worried. I hope they’re alright. It’s very worrying that she’s so far away right now. I mean, I wouldn’t have survived if I’d been any farther from Dolora and Sigmun. It’s a good thing I am so close to them. 

 

27 April 1614

I felt good today. I felt like I did before all this happened. I still feel pretty good, actually. I read a chapter of a book and went hunting and made stew and everything. I feel fine. 

 

29 April 1614

Today I kissed Sigmun because no one else was around and I wasn’t afraid to and I felt fine about kissing him the way I normally do, I didn’t feel so afraid. Even the village seems less intimidating. Maybe I’m just feeling better. 

 

31 April 1614

Today while Simonn was in the market getting food for his family and Sigmun was out finding herbs, Dolora taught me how to make a few medicines. When I asked her why, she said she remembered a while ago I’d asked her to teach me about medicine and she’d said yes and now she’d like to teach me something to keep her promise. 

I’m quite glad. I think medicine is interesting. I hope I learn a few more things!

Oh, and Hannah still hasn’t written back. I hope she’s still alive enough to write.


	20. Come Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting out is harder than you'd think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erm warning for Hannah's father in this chapter because he's an all-around awful human being. And Dorothy's husband.

1 May 1614

I was in the village today and I saw the village inspector blundering around like he was lost, so I sighed and went up to him and asked, “Are you lost?”

“No!”

“I can help you if you’re lost, or you can keep blundering around and looking like an idiot. Which will it be?”

He sighed. “Fine. I’d like to find the home of William and Elizabeth Sailor. No one seems to know.”

“Oh, not this again…Look, Mrs. Sailor was the town drunk, why the hell does everyone want to know where she is?”

“I was told she was a respectable woman of the upper class who married William Sailor and had a daughter.”

“Guess I didn’t ruin her reputation as much as I’d have liked to.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Elizabeth Sailor was my mother. Her house is this way.” I led him to my house and said, “Here it is. I live here now. She left on August twenty-second, sixteen thirteen.”

“Why?”

“Because I wasn’t married.” 

“Pardon?”

“If you’d like to hear the whole story, at least come in and I’ll make a cup of tea.”

“Thank you, Miss… What is your last name?”

“Leijon. Green or black?” I asked, opening the door and letting them in. 

“Black, please.” 

I made a cup of black tea (I keep both kinds around) and set in on the table. 

“So, what would you like to know?”

“This house is in the name of William Sailor. Why are you living here?”

“I was her daughter. She adopted me when I was six months old.”

“Why did she leave?”

“She told me I had to be married by the time I was eighteen. I’m still not married, so she left to go live with my father.”

“By blood or adoptive?”

“Adoptive. My blood parents are the Leijons. Hence, my surname.” I suppose I pronounced my family name different enough from the nobles that he didn’t recognize it. 

“Why did you not take the name of your adoptive parents?” He had that packet of papers out and he was filling in information on lines that followed questions. 

“Because my mother was a horrible woman and my father was an idiot.”

He was taken aback, but nodded awkwardly. “So you have ownership of the house?”

“I do. I plan to live here with my husband when I am married.”

“Does anyone else live here?”

“No.”

“Is the legal deed to the house in your family name or in the name of your father?”

“The name of my father. William Sailor.”

“Thank you, I believe you answered all my other questions the other day.”

“You’re welcome. Do you need anything else? Perhaps a map?” I felt much calmer about dealing with him for some reason. 

“Thank you, but no. But…could you perhaps tell me which road leads to the city?”

“The one going north that starts by the fabric store. Called Tailor’s Road in the village.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Good day.”

“Good day to you too.” 

He seemed to be a little bit humbled by me proving myself just as clever as him twice, and Dolora proving herself to be very much in charge of her house. I certainly hope he learned a thing or two from our village. Men like that don’t take well to just being told they’re being ridiculous, I’ve noticed. 

 

2 May 1614

I had only three nightmares last night without the valerian, so there’s progress. And I don’t feel so scared of the village anymore. I mean, I feel alright about things right now. I feel safer, at least a little. 

 

3 May 1614

Hannah wrote back today! She said she wants to leave, but her father might notice if his three remaining daughters just disappeared, so it might be too dangerous. And she certainly wasn’t going to leave without Eleanor and Alice. I guess now that Dorothy’s gone, Hannah wants to take on the role of the oldest, which according to Simonn means protecting the younger ones and for all practical purposes being their extra parent. 

I wonder if perhaps we could find her village and bring her back. Hannah’s grandmother still lives here, and since she’s only fifty-five (give or take), she can take care of Hannah until she’s an adult. Most everyone in Hannah’s family married young, which works out well. I’m just so worried! I don’t want my friends to get hurt. And it’s tearing Simonn apart, that much is clear. I think everyone will be happier once Hannah comes back, one way or another. 

 

4 May 1614

Simonn looked very sick today. 

“Simonn? You alright?”

“I’m fine.”

“No you’re not.”

“I told you, I’m fine!” he snapped. 

“Simonn Peter Captor, if you don’t talk about what’s wrong, it will never get better!”

He just stared at me for a long time, probably because no one ever calls him by his full name, He says he hates that his parents named him after one of the apostles, but I think he just hates that his parents don’t always remember the Peter part. 

“I’m worried Hannah’s father is going to make her get married.” 

“No one can make her get married.”

“He could threaten her sisters. She’d do anything for them.”

“He has to make friends in the village before he finds someone who is willing to let their son marry Hannah. We have time.”

“Time to do what?”

“Simonn, take a deep breath. Take it from someone who’s been through the same thing. She’ll get out.”

“You got out when your mother left!”

“And I’m fine! She left and I could have gone with her but I didn’t! Hannah will come home, okay? Trust me.”

“If you say so.” 

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I do trust you, but I’m worried out of my mind.”

“Worry gets you nowhere. I’d know. Just…everything will be okay in the end.”

“Is that your life philosophy or something?”

“Yes, I suppose it is. What’s yours?”

“Family isn’t just who you’re related to, and home isn’t just where you sleep at night.”

“Well, that’s deep.”

“I guess.”

“But I do agree.”

“I think we all do.” 

I certainly don’t think family is just who you’re related to by blood. My blood family doesn’t seven know my name, in all likelihood. And I think Dolora and Sigmun’s home is much more my home than my house. I hope I never have to leave it. 

I haven’t been thinking so much on March. The nightmares are still torture, but I wake up able to breathe and it’s taking less and less time to return to reality when I wake. It’s certainly better than I felt two weeks ago. 

 

6 May 1614

I should start looking for a job. I can’t think of anything but the seamstress’s, because most of the other stores only employ men. But I suppose I could just go and ask them if they need anyone. If not there, I could…well, I don’t know. But it’s worth a shot, I suppose. 

 

7 May 1614

I went to the village with Sigmun and Simonn and we ran into Sumner. He’s Mariek’s age, so two years older than me. He’s almost legally an adult. Well, he turns twenty in two days, so I guess he’s more like a year and a half older. That’s irrelevant. 

We talked about our ambitions, because Sumner’s the ambitious dreamer sort with dangerous dreams. Sigmun talked about maybe going into politics, and Simonn about university, and Sumner talked about how he wants to move to France and maybe start a revolution. He said it so casually, like it was nothing. So I said I wanted to go to university, too, and study languages, and maybe write books. Sumner has dangerous ambitions, but I’m not sure I should be worried. Sumner’s strong and anyways, he’s also not the sort to follow through with his crazy plans. 

 

9 May 1614

We were in the village again today with Mariek when Sumner happened by and Mariek kissed him, quite brazenly I have to say. 

“Happy birthday, Sum.”

“Thanks, Mary.” I saw something pass over Mariek’s face and I remembered how much she must miss Neolla. 

“Heard anything from Neolla?” I asked. 

“Nope. You?”

“No. She must be busy.”

“No kidding. Anything from Hannah?”

“Nothing,” Simonn said. “Not since her last letter. But it takes a few days for letters to get here from there, so maybe we’ll hear something soon.”

“You’re quite the optimist today,” I noted. 

“Well, I’ve been working on it,” Simonn said. 

“Better than your usual state of pessimism,” Sigmun teased. 

“Well, that was polite,” Simonn shot back. 

“Happy birthday, Sumner,” I interrupted. 

“Thanks, doll.”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Sorry?”

“It’s alright. But I’d say most people prefer to be addressed as fellow human beings.”

“I didn’t mean it that way…sorry,” he said. 

“Don’t worry about it. Just don’t do it again.” 

He nodded and then said, “Hey, d’you guys want to do something fun?”

“Is it safe?” I asked. 

“Uh…define ‘safe’.”

“Safe, meaning, we won’t get in trouble with my mother and two or three shopkeepers and about half the village?” Sigmun defined. 

“Well, only a quarter of the village,” Sumner said. 

“You do whatever you like,” I said. “I’m not planning on getting in trouble when I need to find a job here.”

“Job hunting?”

“Me too,” Sigmun said. “Aren’t you?”

“No. I’ve got other plans.” 

“Right, a revolution in France.”

“Yeah. I figure they need it right now.”

“So you just feel like, oh, I’ll just go start a rebellion, what the hell?” Simonn said. 

Sumner shrugged. “It’s a plan.” 

Mariek grinned. “A pirate and a revolutionary. How storybook.”

We talked for a while longer about not a whole lot before Sigmun and Simonn and I headed back to find herbs and read and all that. Sumner’s certainly a strange one. I can see why he and Mariek like each other, though I’m not sure if they’re properly together or not. I wonder if they ever will be. 

 

12 May 1614

There was a letter from Hannah today! It said she was worried about leaving, but she’d think about it, and also if it wasn’t any trouble could we send some tea for her and her sisters. Simonn put together a little paper box with some mint tea in it, enough for twenty cups of tea or so, and wrote a letter begging Hannah to come home. He’s worried, but he also knows it’s no use trying to find her village. 

I still don’t know which seamstress to ask first. There’s the one by the fountain, the small one Mariek’s mother used to run, and the one on the east side of the market. I think the one Mariek’s mother used to run might be most likely to hire me, but I also don’t want to work there because it’s dingy and because Mariek’s mother was so kind and I don’t want to think about her death. (It happened while Mother had me trapped inside.)

 

14 May 1614

I had a dream last night about my mother. I dreamed she’d trapped me in a mirror and whenever I tried to break the glass to get out, someone would come to look in the mirror and I’d have to hide. And she just kept laughing whenever I tried to break out. I hate my nightmares with a passion. This one just really got to me for some reason. I’m kind of scared my mother will never really leave me. I’m worried I’ll spend the rest of my life harping on what she did to me. 

My friends say it’s my choice, but my nightmares leave me unsure if anything is my choice anymore. 

 

23 May 1614

This journal got wedged behind that mirror again. I don’t like the mirror, but it’s the only one I have and I don’t want to go to the trouble of selling such a heavy thing and replacing it. I think it’s the only heirloom left besides the silver. I even sold most of the porcelain dishes, the ones my mother kept for company that never visited. I only kept two of everything, and I figure I might as well use it myself because I never have company and anyways, I think I’m worth eating off the nice plates. If I have them, I might as well use them. 

Still no luck with the seamstresses. I asked the one Mariek’s mother used to run, because I figured why not, and they said they don’t need anyone. I’m trying to work up the courage to ask the one in the middle of town, or on the east side. 

 

25 May 1614

We were sitting at Sigmun and Dolora’s today, bouncing around ideas of places to look for jobs, when Simonn said, “I just realized…we missed Hannah’s birthday.”

“I missed yours twice and besides a horrible feeling of lingering guilt on my part, we’re none the worse for it,” I pointed out, because I could tell he was worried. 

“Well, that wasn’t your fault,” Simonn said. “There wasn’t exactly anything you could’ve done. We could have sent a letter or something…”

“It’s April sixteenth, right?”

“Mm-hmm. April sixteenth, fifteen ninety-six.”

“Look at you, in love with someone who’s actually the age you’d marry.”

“She’s only a year younger.”

“Dianna and I are the same age, and so are Mama and Rose,” Sigmun pointed out. “No one’s too fussed about this.” 

“That’s not my point! I just…I feel bad.”

“You can make up for it once she’s back home. Dolora can make a cake and everything. Or her grandmother…” I said. 

“I guess. She’ll think I forgot, though.”

“Did you?”

“No. I thought about it all day on April sixteenth, but Thomas and Robert needed new socks and I got distracted.”

“Then tell her that! She has two little sisters, she’ll understand,” I said. 

“I guess,” Simonn shrugged. 

“Hey, do you reckon they’ll let you work on the farm where your dad works?” I asked, hoping to lighten the mood. 

“Maybe.”

We bounced around ideas for a while longer and Simonn wrote a bunch down. He’s going to be looking for a job once Richard’s old enough to watch out for the others, because he said he wants to be able to afford more food and nicer clothes and Christmas presents and all that. His siblings love the village festivities on Christmas, which I always missed because of Mother, or last year because I just wanted to be with my family. I’d like to go this year, though. It might not be so bad without Mother or exhaustion hanging over me. I’ll get Dolora and Sigmun to come with me, I’m sure. 

 

28 May 1614

We heard from Hannah today! It was a short letter, but she said she was looking for ways to come home. She and her sisters are planning as best as they can. I hope they’re safe. 

We went to the creek today. It was nice out, sunny and warm. I didn’t wear shoes and I like the feel of grass and dirt under my feet. I felt…good. I felt great. 

 

29 May 1614

Simonn brought his siblings by, including Joanne since she’s two years old now. She toddled around some and she was so cute, and she had that look in her eyes when she looked at Simonn, like all his siblings do. He looked so sad, and I remembered she’s only going to be three when she…dies. 

Isabella sat next to me again (she’s seven now, almost eight) and said, “Hi Dianna!”

“Hi Isabella.”

“You can read and write, right?”

“I can.”

“Can you show me how to write?”

“Isn’t Simonn teaching you?”

“Yeah, but it looks so neat to see people writing fast!”

“Alright.” I found a piece of paper and a pen and wrote a few sentences for her and she watched with this awe in her eyes. She’s so sweet, Isabella. I think Simonn’s been raising them well. 

 

1 June 1614

Summer has certainly begun! The sun was shining today and all the flowers were in bloom and the river’s started to warm up a bit from all the snowmelt it gets in March and April. I like summer, at least when it’s not too hot out. July is no fun when it’s horribly hot out. 

 

3 June 1614

I thought I’d lose my mind today from being so tired. I haven’t slept in two days. And once Simonn left and Dolora was in the village, Sigmun and I kissed so full of passion that I thought nothing else could ever feel quite so good. And I felt that strange sort of wanting again, like all my insides are soup. I don’t know how to describe it. I just don’t think I’ve ever wanted something so much in my life, except perhaps getting out and food when I was starving with my mother. I don’t even know what it is I want so much. If I did, maybe I could do something about it. 

 

5 June 1614

I found an old letter today, from my father to my mother when they were young and courting. It’s from 1585, ten years before I was born. He was quite romantic about wooing her, back before the recession and his infidelity. I suppose they were in love, back then. It’s nothing special, not like Sigmun’s letters to me. His letters are special. My father’s to my mother could’ve been to anyone. Maybe Sigmun’s only seem special because that’s my love story, the way Mother must’ve kept this one because it was her love story. 

I hope ours don’t end the same way. 

 

6 June 1614

Today was an alright day, overall. I felt fine and I did everything I normally do in a day and I just feel pretty good, considering. I still didn’t ask any of the seamstresses, but I will soon. Once I work up the courage or whatever it takes to walk into a store and ask if they’re hiring. 

 

7 June 1614

Sigmun said he’s going to start looking for a job soon. 

“Well, good luck,”

“What, you think I won’t be able to find one?”

“I’m just expressing that I hope you have good luck. I’m looking too! Once I work up the courage.”

“Where?”

“The seamstress’s.”

“Ah.”

“Do you…I kind of hate that I’m going to say this…will you be able to get a job without a father?”

“You don’t have one, either.”

“I can claim a father. That’s not the point.”

“I don’t know. I won’t know until I try. I just…I hope I can get a job.” His voice cracked, just a touch, and I saw his face waver. He usually looks very put-together when he’s stressed, but he seemed nervous now. 

“There’s nothing to worry about, dear. They always need workers on farms and all that.”

“It’s not that.”

“Then what is it?”

“Well…you called me dear.”

“I did.”

“I mean, I…if, or when, or I guess if but I mean…I mean, if or when we get married, I don’t want to be broke and unemployed.” 

I didn’t really know how to respond because of course I want to marry him, but we’ve never really talked about it. 

“You won’t be.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because I trust you. You’ll find something. And anyways, I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. But if I could do anything I wanted, I would make the world so you could do anything you wanted.”

“You’re…very sweet.” 

“Thanks,” he blushed maroon. “You sound kind of unsure.”

“I…I just didn’t know you felt like that, too.”

“Well, I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

We sat that way for a while and then he kissed me and I kissed back and I think I might have a bruise on my neck tomorrow. 

 

8 June 1614

I had to wear all my hair over one shoulder today because I did have a little bruise. Sigmun said it looked nice. Simonn looked at me suspiciously and said I was probably glad it wasn’t windy out, so I glared at him because Dolora was still home. But he was right. 

Sigmun apologized later and I told him it was fine, and not to worry. Just, if he did it again, try for somewhere a little less conspicuous. Then I realized how that sounded and I blushed and he said not to worry, he knew what I meant. 

 

10 June 1614

Another letter came from Hannah today, thanking us for the tea and the heartfelt hopes for her and her sister’s safety. She told us that Eleanor is feeling fine, but Alice is restless because their father won’t let them out much, so sometimes Alice sneaks out. Apparently Hannah’s worried, but she doesn’t want to stop Alice from tasting the fresh air. 

I understand Alice sneaking out. Fresh air sometimes feels like the best cure for anything. 

 

17 June 1614

I don’t know what’s wrong with me, that I keep leaving my journal places. It got behind the pots and pans somehow and I just found it because I was making stew with the rabbit I caught while I was hunting the other day. 

Life’s been alright. I’ve been eating less than I’d like to, but at least I’m eating and I’m safe (relatively speaking) and I’m alive. 

 

18 June 1614

Today was Simonn’s birthday! Dolora was home, so she baked a cake. She put mint in it and Sigmun told him to just go ahead and take Principia, it was a present, and I got him a nice pair of boots and a knit pair of wool socks for the winter because whenever he comes over in the winter, his feet are red and kind of swollen and I worry. So I figured something to keep him warm would be a nice present. 

Simonn looked so happy I thought he’d cry. I’m glad he had a nice birthday in the midst of all this sadness with Hannah. 

 

19 June 1614

Neolla’s home for the summer! She found us in the village today and she grinned like she does, so she looks like nothing will ever go wrong again. “I’m home!”

“That’s great!” I said, hugging her. “For how long?”

“Until August twenty-fourth. I have early classes.”

“I’m so glad to see you!” I said again. 

Sigmun and Simonn also greeted her, and then we went to sit in the park, and Mariek and Sumner showed up eventually. 

“Hey, where’s Hannah?”

“Uh…” Simonn stammered, looking at his feet. “She left. With her father and her sisters. We’re trying to get her to come home, but her father might…might chase them.” He bit his lip and I put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, Simonn, it’s alright. It’ll be alright in the end,” I remind him. 

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. Hannah and her sisters have each other. They’ll be fine,” Neolla said with a particular sort of confidence only she and Mariek can really muster. 

“Suppose so,” Simonn shrugged. 

We talked a while more, and Neolla looked so bright, like she was glowing. She must be so glad to be home. I wonder if all the hiding ever wears on her. 

 

20 June 1614

Neolla came by today for tea and books and she told us all these wonderful stories about school and her friends there, and her roommates, and how her classes are, and all that. It was very interesting. She has the best stories from school. I hope I have stories that interesting someday. 

 

22 June 1614

What a wonderful thing! Hannah finally ran away from her father with Alice and Eleanor and she said her grandmother is going to let them live with her! I’m so glad they’re out, and they’re here, at home. Her grandmother is kind and sweet and Simonn says that when he went there to visit Hannah, she told him that he’s too skinny and he should eat more. Simonn is skinny, but that’s not really his fault. He’s just like that. He’s tall and thin as a beanpole.

Anyways, Hannah came by today with Alice and Eleanor to introduce them to us.

“Dianna, Sigmun, these are two of my sisters, Alice and Eleanor. Alice is twelve, Eleanor is sixteen.”

“Is your beau here?” Alice asked. Hannah blushed crimson.

“Simonn is here, yes.”

“Can we see him, too?”

“Fine.”

“He’s gonna be our brother. Hannah’s gonna marry him,” Alice said matter-of-factly.

I grinned and looked at Hannah. “Did you finally set a date?”

“Dianna!”

“Sorry, sorry. Simonn! Hannah’s here.”

“Wait, what? Uh—hold on! I gotta…I have to…” Simonn gets so flustered about Hannah.

“Put the book away and come out here, no one cares if you haven’t brushed your hair or something.”

Simonn reluctantly walked into the front room and he was honestly kind of a mess. “Hi, Hannah.”

“Hi. Alice and Eleanor came with me today.”

“Oh. Great.”

“It’s Hannah’s beau!” Alice said again. “Hannah’s beau, Hannah’s beau…”

“Stop it,” Hannah said. “I brought you here to meet my friends, not to make fun of me.”

“Hannah, I was busy. We’ve met your friends. I’m gonna go back home,” Eleanor said.

“Have fun. Take Alice,” Hannah said tiredly. “Go on. Tell Gramma I’ll be back by dinner and we might have guests.”

“Like Simonn?”

“Just go.”

Alice and Eleanor left, Alice still giggling. “They don’t let up, do they?” I asked.

“Nope,” Hannah sighed. “At least they like you all. And Gramma certainly does.”

“So,” I said, moving to the library. “Tell us what happened.”

“Well,” Hannah said. “Two days ago, Father told me that he’d found a nice man for me from Italy and I was getting married whether I liked it or not. So I nodded, and he shouted, ‘What was that tone of voice for? How dare you speak to your father like that! Don’t roll your eyes at me, you bitch!’ Even though I hadn’t said a word, or rolled my eyes! So I just lost it and yelled, ‘I hate you! I don’t want to marry him and I won’t!’ And…my father slapped me and he started hitting me and he said that if I wasn’t going to get married and have kids, he’d make me have kids, so I started screaming for Dorothy (which was crazy, I don’t know why I did it), and I guess my sisters heard. And Eleanor came downstairs and whacked him on the head with the iron fire poker and he fainted. So I called Alice and we packed everything into some bags and we just left and ran for a day and a half and the only safe place I know is here, so we came here and Gramma said we could live with her for as long as we need to. It’s been hell.”

“Oh my goodness…” Simonn said, his eyes wide. “Thank heaven you got out.”

“Yeah,” Hannah said, nodding. “I’m exhausted.”

“Tea?” I asked.

“Yeah, sure. Mint?”

“Of course.” Hannah looked exhausted. She reached for Simonn’s hand and held on tightly. Simonn and Hannah are the single shiest couple I’ve ever met. Or maybe it’s just how it contrasts to the way Sigmun loves me and I love him completely unreservedly, or the way Dolora looks like she’s glowing when she talks about Rose, or the way Mariek and Sumner banter back and forth even though they’ve never confessed properly that they love each other, or anybody else’s love, really.

I suppose no two loves are alike.

I pray Hannah’s father never comes back. I hope they’re safe here. I know it hurts to not have parents who love you and I hope Hannah and her sisters can recover from that. 

 

23 June 1614

Hannah asked us if we’d like to meet her grandmother tomorrow, because apparently her grandmother’s making a nice dinner to celebrate something-or-other. Hannah says her grandmother just likes cooking and cooking for people. So we all said yes, and then Hannah smiled and Simonn took her hand and held on tightly and I gave Simonn a raised-eyebrow look like he used to do to Sigmun and I. He blushed and glared at me and I couldn’t help but laugh because I remember just a year ago when he was the one making fun of me.

She also mentioned Dorothy, who’s still in Austria. “I sent her a letter and I got the reply yesterday. She said her husband’s been beating her and…you know. What bad husbands do.” She shrugged and I nodded because we all know. “He was the worst of all the men Father introduced us to.”

“That’s awful,” I said.

“Yeah. I’m leaving in two days.”

“What?!” Simonn shouted. “You’re leaving?”

“Not forever, silly. Just to go rescue my sister. Maybe two months.”

“But you could get hurt, or lost, and what if her husband tries to hurt her and you get caught in the crossfire, or what if you get stuck in one of the wars, or—”

“Simonn, calm down. You’d do anything for you brothers and sister, right?”

Simonn nodded as if he was admitting something shameful. “I would.”

“Well, I’d do anything for Dorothy. She saved my life at least ten times over when we were younger. I owe her.” Hannah, for once, sounded sure of herself. I’ve never heard her so convinced of something. “I’ll write home every day.”

“Promise?”

“I swear it. On the lives of all my sisters.” I could tell Hannah meant it. That spark in her eyes means so much to me, when I’ve never before seen her looking anybody straight in the eyes because she’s been taught so much fear. We’ve all been taught to fear. Ever since I was young and I was afraid of Mother, and of the men who bother me in the village, and of all sorts of disasters, and of…I’m afraid of so many things it’s a wonder I do anything at all.

I think we’re all taught fear so we don’t change things.

 

24 June 1616

Hannah came to Sigmun and Dolora’s today and since Sigmun and Simonn were out, the two of us talked some. 

“Did you see Simonn has eyeglasses?”

“Yeah. He got them in April.” 

“Did I tell you what I told me when he saw me?”

“What?”

She blushed violently red and said, “He said I was even more beautiful than he thought I was.”

“Oh my goodness, that’s so sweet!” 

“And then he went on and on about how we all look so different, my sisters and I. I guess he couldn’t tell?”

“He couldn’t tell I had this pox mark before I had glasses,” I say, pointing to the one on my cheek. 

“Really?” 

“Really. Your fiancé might as well be blind without his glasses.”

Hannah blushed again. “He’s not my fiancé!”

“Hannah, it’s okay to admit you like him. I like Sigmun.”

“I know, but…I mean, I can’t get married! I’m eighteen!”

“Don’t worry about it, I was just teasing.” I was so glad to see that glow of happiness from her because Hannah is so shy and so fearful and she deserves to feel happy. 

 

25 June 1614

Hannah left today for Austria. She packed her things and Dolora gave her a box of tea and I gave her a knife she could use to protect herself and maybe hunt. She smiled and hugged us all, and she was crying. She kissed Simonn and she said she was scared, but she couldn’t just let Dorothy sit there get hurt. I hope she comes home. I hope she comes home with Dorothy safe and sound. 

 

27 June 1614

Simonn left his eyeglasses on the table in Dolora’s house and then he was scouting the house looking for them, but he kept bumping into things because he couldn’t see anything. It must be hard to walk without eyeglasses when you need them. 

Anyways, he found them in the end. It’s probably a good thing, too. He certainly needs them, and they’re expensive. I hope Simonn doesn’t lose his mind along with his eyeglasses from all the worry. 

 

30 June 1614

Hannah’s first letter came today. She’s getting close to the sea. She said she’ll sneak onto a boat to get across to the rest of the continent. Simonn wrote back saying he hoped she was alright and to get into the cargo hold of a bigger ship so she could take some food. 

Hannah’s a stowaway. Considering what I know of her, she must be dead-set on rescuing Dorothy. She must also be terrified. I can’t believe her courage right now. Hannah must be the bravest person I’ve ever met.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a huge mistake in this chapter so I've fixed it and hopefully it hasn't totally ruined the story


	21. Letters From Austria

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah writes; everyone else worries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been doing some editing recently so there might be some shifting of chapters and removing of unimportant parts.

1 July 1614

Today was alright. I mean, parts of it were wonderful, but Simonn lost his eyeglasses and flat-out panicked before Sigmun said, “Oh, you’re looking for your eyeglasses? They’re right next to the book on Prussian history.” We studied Prussian history today, incidentally. 

The wonderful part was when Sigmun and I were alone and I was tired because I still have trouble sleeping sometimes so I rested my head in his lap and he played with my hair until I fell asleep, all warm and comfortable. I don’t know if that was one of those things you’re not supposed to do before you’re married, but I find myself caring less and less these days. I felt good, and Sigmun had that silly drowsy smile that I like so much, and when Dolora came home (she woke me up when she closed the door) she just nodded approvingly and went to cook dinner. 

 

2 July 1614

Another letter from Hannah today. She said she’d managed to find a boat and her next letters wouldn’t come until she was across the sea. It made Simonn nervous, and I could see how tense he was. He kept running his fingers over his lips, I think unconsciously. And he seemed cold, even though it’s July. Poor Simonn. 

 

4 July 1614

Today was just fine. I went to the market and I wasn’t afraid, and then I went to Sigmun and Dolora’s and stayed for dinner, and Simonn came by for a while, and I kissed Sigmun some, and I feel fine. I feel like myself again, which I didn’t really expect. 

 

5 July 1614

Damn those men in the market. Damn them to hell. I hate them. I hate the way they expect me to like them just for saying a few words that aren’t nearly as sweet as they think they are. I hate the way the just touch me without my permission, as if they were my husband or my…whatever Sigmun is to me. I’m so sick of it! Why don’t they just leave me alone? Don’t they have the basic decency to ask someone before they touch them? Is there something they don’t understand about the word no? Or the phrase, “get away from me”? Is this really so complicated? 

I just had to get that out. I’m just so frustrated with this! If I threaten them with the knife I keep tucked in the bottom of my shopping basket, someone’s bound to take their side and say I was attacking a poor defenseless idiot unprovoked, because clearly touching someone without their isn’t provocation enough! My words never seem to get through to them. I might just stop going to the market alone altogether. Safety in numbers, I suppose. 

 

6 July 1614

Hannah’s next letter came today. Apparently she was horribly seasick on her whole trip across the sea because there was a storm, but she got on and off undetected. The trip wasn’t nearly as long as any of us thought it would be, only half a day or so. She also said that she was sorry if her letters got lost or something because she wrote every day, but she heard men on the ship talking about how letters get lost when they travel across the sea. They called it the channel, but it’s all the same. 

Simonn’s been so distracted and he’s been losing things left and right since Hannah left. I know she has to rescue her sister, but I hope she’s back soon. 

 

8 July 1614

Another letter from Hannah today. She’s finding France quite nice and thanked me for accidentally speaking in French around her so often because she actually picked up some and she can communicate with people enough to ask for directions. (I have a bad habit of mixing up languages. Luckily Sigmun and Simonn and I speak most all of the same ones.) 

My stews have been getting better recently because I’m getting better at hunting. Not much is really going on in my life right now. 

 

10 July 1614

It’s been two years since I first kissed Sigmun and I still feel…well, not quite the same way about him, but I know I love him. And I keep feeling that wanting feeling and I’ve finally figured out what it is. I don’t know why I realized it, but I did and I guess it’s because it’s kind of the way I feel when I think about getting married and my wedding night. I don’t want to marry someone just because I want to…(I can’t finish writing that, I’m blushing too hard). But I do love him…

Well, I guess it’s moot. It’s not as if I can do the asking. I just…I want to marry him and I love him and I hope he feels the same way, even after all this time. 

 

11 July 1614

It was like sitting in a cooking pot outside today, so we went to the river and went swimming. I don’t know what it is that makes Sigmun blush so red like that when we head home and I wring out my hair and braid it up so my shirt doesn’t get any more water-soaked than it already is. 

Anyways, the water was cold and it felt so nice when it’s so hot I can’t sleep most nights. Actually, I usually can’t sleep much, but this made it worse. I wish the days were cooler because then I could take naps with my head on Sigmun’s lap because that’s very comfortable and he says he likes playing with my hair. But it’s too hot to do much of anything, include sleep. The last time I managed to take a nap was July first. 

 

12 July 1614

Hannah’s letter came today! She talked about how lovely it is in France and she’s getting there, she should be there by August or September at this rate, at least according to the people she’s talked to. She thanked me for the knife and Dolora for the tea and she wrote to Simonn that, “I love you like the sea loves the shore; I can never stay away from you long, even though the tides might try to pull us apart. I hope you know that when we get back I’ll never leave again.” I have a feeling I wasn’t supposed to read that part, but I was so eager for any news that I just read the whole letter at once. 

 

13 July 1614

Simonn lost his eyeglasses again today. I think he must be worried, because he leaves them in the most obvious places. The wires around the lenses (apparently the frames, according to Simonn) are quite thin, so maybe he just can’t see them when he looks. Sigmun or I can usually find them in the end. Good thing, too. I don’t think Simonn could afford another pair of eyeglasses and he certainly needs them. 

 

14 July 1614

Today was Sigmun’s birthday! Dolora baked a cake for him and I gave him a nice jacket I sewed him and we celebrated and had a lovely dinner and Sigmun looked so happy I thought he’d start glowing. It was so lovely and it was a warm day and it didn’t rain, because it never rains on his birthday, and it was just so nice. 

He’ll be an adult officially in two years. It’s odd to me that I’m an adult now since I’m eighteen, but Sigmun and Simonn won’t be legally adults until they’re twenty-one. It’s very strange, but that’s how it works. 

 

15 July 1614

Neolla came by today while Sigmun was looking for a job and she seemed tired. 

“Want some tea?” I asked. 

“Sure.”

I made her a cup of green tea, because I know she likes green, and then sat with her at the table.

“Everything alright?” I asked. 

“Fine, I suppose. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” 

“Do you…do you ever think about your wedding day?”

I blushed. “All the time,” I admitted.

“I do, too. But…” She looked left and bit her lower lip like she does when she’s nervous. “Do you ever think about your wedding night?” 

I blushed horribly red and my face felt hotter than the sun. “Why do you ask?”

“I won’t tell anyone. Do you?”

“…Yes,” I confessed, still very warm. 

“It’s just…I don’t,” she said, as if she was admitting something shameful. “Never have. I mean, sure I want the blue dress and the handsome husband and the big celebration, but…not the night part.”

“Well, that’s what women are supposed to think, isn’t it?” I said sarcastically. 

“Everyone does, though. Except, apparently, me. I mean…is that wrong?”

“Why would it be?”

“Well, you know Mariek. She laughed when I told her, said I wasn’t enjoying life enough.”

“Don’t worry about it. There’s nothing wrong with that. You know, I used to think I was strange for dreaming about—thinking about my wedding night.”

“No, really?”

“Yes, really. I thought…well, I thought my mother would find out somehow and kill me. But a variety of less dramatic things, too.” 

“I guess there’s no way to win,” Neolla said, half-laughing. She was trying to cover it, but I saw a few tears in her eyes and her voice was strained to breaking. 

“Guess not,” I agreed, laughing with her. Neolla looked like she’d been carrying some huge weight on her shoulders and now it was gone. 

“I guess I’m just not going to have children.”

“You never seemed to want them.”

“No, I never did. You do, right?”

“I do. But…you know how it is. The noble families used to have ten, twelve, even more children. They’ve been having less and less. That’s my blood family. How do I know I’ll be able to have children at all? And if I don’t, what did I do wrong?”

“First of all, you don’t know yet,” Neolla said. “Second of all, and I cannot stress this enough, there’s nothing wrong with not having children. There are women who don’t who have fine lives. And you could always adopt children. Look at your beau.”

Neolla’s pretty much the only person who can call Sigmun my beau and not annoy me. On the other hand, the only other person who does is Mariek, and she doesn’t really let up that sort of teasing. “Thanks, Neolla.”

“Thank you, too. Means a lot to know you don’t think I’m broken or something.”

“It means a lot that you don’t think I’m in the wrong.”

She hugged me, rather unexpectedly (Neolla’s not the type to hug), and I hugged her back. “Anything you need when you’re at school, just write to me, and I’ll help you,” I said. She must feel so alone in school by herself. She might do better if she and Mariek wrote to each other more. 

“I’d do the same for you,” she said, grinning. “What else are friends for?”

We chatted a bit more about not a whole lot before she left and said she was going to find Mariek so they could have dinner together. I stayed at Dolora and Sigmun’s for dinner, actually, because I felt like being with people and the emptiness and aloneness of my house really wears on me sometimes. 

 

17 July 1614

Another letter today. This time both of her letters, the one to us and the one to her sisters, were delivered to her grandmother’s house, so Simonn brought it over after he checked on Eleanor and Alice like he does every day. Nothing special besides the fact that Hannah is eighteen years old and traveling across the entire continent on her own. 

 

20 July 1614

I think today was the hottest day of the year so far, so Simonn brought his siblings over to go swimming. They were so cute, especially Thomas trying to do all the flips like Sigmun can do and not doing too well with it. It was nice to cool off today of all days. I doubt I’ll get much sleep tonight with all the heat. 

Maybe I’ll be able to take a nap tomorrow. I need more sleep than I get. 

 

21 July 1614

A letter came today. Hannah said she’s getting holes in her socks, but she packed extra pairs so she’s alright. 

Simonn lost his eyeglasses again and they were sitting right next to where he put down the letter. I’m very glad I don’t need eyeglasses. 

 

23 July 1614

Mariek came over today and she was sitting there with tea when she sighed and completely dropped her entire manner so she looked incredibly vulnerable and tired. 

“Mariek? Are you alright?” I asked. 

“No.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Bloody hell, what isn’t wrong? Neolla’s gone most of the time, my parents are both dead, Aunt Katherine doesn’t want me around, Uncle Benjamin hates me, I’ve met about ten men in the past two weeks my aunt wanted me to marry and they were all awful, my siblings are all gone and married off and none of them even speak to me anymore, currently two people in my life don’t have a bloody clue how I feel about them, and the men in the village will not leave me alone. I should make a habit.”

“You mean, one a nun would wear?”

“Yeah, duh.”

“Do you just want to vent or…?”

“I don’t know. Just need to get it out. I guess really the thing is…oh, it’s not important, you’ll hate me for this.” 

“No I won’t.”

“I haven’t told you yet, how would you know?”

“Because you’re my friend. I couldn’t hate you. Well, unless you killed some other friend or something.”

“Fine. I screwed up and got pregnant so I took some aloe to make myself sick and lost the kid.”

“What?!”

“See, I told you.”

“I thought you had some clever trick for not getting pregnant!”

“I do. It usually works. But I screwed up and now I still feel like shit from all that aloe.”

“What is it?”

“Why do you want to know?” She raised her eyebrows and some of her normal demeanor came back. 

“Never mind that,” I said, blushing. “I don’t hate you or anything! That’s just…wow. How could you poison yourself?”

“It doesn’t kill you, I’d know,” Mariek said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t have a child. I’m no good with children, I don’t want children, I certainly would be a bad mother. I mean, hell, you know that me and a child wouldn’t mix. Not to mention I’d never be able to get a job, or get married, because as far as most of the town knows, my reputation is entirely unfounded, and having a kid would screw that up. And Aunt Katherine would kick me out to live on the streets, and where could I go? So I figured, I’ll just take the aloe. I mean…that’s not the point. It’s just why I’m really feeling the need to vent right now.”

“No kidding!”

“See, you’re acting all shocked.”

“Because you basically poisoned yourself!”

“And it worked! Made me weak enough that my body just gave up the ghost and I lost the baby.” 

“It would explain where you’ve been for the last week.”

“I told Aunt Katherine I’d caught a cold.”

“Mariek, what on Earth were you thinking?”

“You try living without your best friends for a few years, see how you cope!” 

“No, that’s not what I meant…you know, you could always come to Dolora. She’d lie for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, first of all, if you wear your corset a bit too tight for a few days, apparently you can loose a baby. I heard Dolora telling a woman who miscarried that. Second of all, you know she lies for a woman who makes herself miscarry if she can’t support a baby.”

“I know that. There’s a reason the men are all convinced no bastards—” I gave her a sharp look “—fine, illegitimate children are ever born in this village.” 

“Mariek, is there anything I can do?”

“Tell Neolla she’s a bitch for up and leaving like that.”

“It’s been two years, and you haven’t told her?”

“She’s going to law school! My best friend is going to have a fulfilling career! Would you tell one of your best friends that, hey, you’re pretty much the only person around here I can stand, can you quit school and come back home?” 

“I think you might need to take a couple deep breaths.”

“Why?”

“You’re a little bit hysterical. Just…calm down, have some tea. And…sorry to ask, but why are you telling me all this and not Neolla?” 

“Because you have two best friends you probably couldn’t live without. She seems to be doing just fine on her own.” 

“You really think so?”

“She’s getting great grades.”

“Maybe I’m the one missing something here, but the tone of her letters seems to me to imply that she misses you. A lot.”

“I don’t know. That’s not…jeez. I just…I miss having my best friend around.” 

“You know, you could always tell her that.”

“Is it really that easy for you? ‘Just tell her’?”

“Do you think I would have been living with my mother for all those years if just telling someone was so easy?”

“What does that have to do with this?”

“Do you think that if I could just tell someone what was wrong and just get up and leave my house I’d have lived with my mother for all those years?”

“Fair point, I suppose.”

“But hey, you could always try telling her. You know, like…oh, you’re going to think I’ve lost my mind.”

“You didn’t hate me for making myself miscarry.”

“Fine. Well, a couple years ago, Sigmun and Simonn were always having these whispered conversations and I hated it because they were excluding me and my mother was getting worse so I pretty much had no one until one day I snapped and started screaming at them and then I hid in the woods for a day. And then I talked to them and it got better, it really did. I think bringing it up sooner is better.” 

“Well, when you put it that way.”

“Yeah…more tea?”

“No thanks. But…don’t tell anyone, please.”

“About what?”

“This whole conversation. Especially the lack of child.”

“I won’t.”

“Thanks. Can’t lose my reputation!” Her smile was such a façade, but I let it pass because I can tell she’s been having a hard time, trying to live without anyone she’s really close to. Mariek and Neolla most certainly rely on each other and Neolla leaving like that must be hard for Mariek. Maybe they can write letters more often or something. I know I couldn’t stand to live without my best friends. I just hope Mariek’s alright. As long as I’ve known her, she’s never dropped her outward personality like that. 

“Go and find Neolla. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Di.”

I rolled my eyes. “Any time. See you soon!”

“See you.” 

Mariek worries me sometimes. If she has some clever trick she’s been using since she was seventeen, it seems like she’d only mess up if she were stressed. Maybe not. What do I know about that sort of thing? But I’ve never seen Mariek drop her guard and I think it must be because of Neolla. 

I hope I never get separated from my friends. I couldn’t stand to lose Sigmun or Simonn or Dolora. I think I’d just die. 

 

26 July 1614

We got another letter today. Hannah says she’s not quite sure which country she’s in but everyone’s speaking German now so it’s probably one of the German states or Switzerland. Unfortunately, she doesn’t know any German, so I wrote a few phrases and their translations in the letter back. I hope she gets our letters; she says she is, but maybe she’s just trying to make us feel better. 

I didn’t mention that last part to Simonn, though. He’s nervous enough as it is without scaring him any more. 

 

28 July 1614

Another letter. Hannah said she’s still not in Austria. I think there must be a delay, because she’s in Austria and almost to her sister by now if the maps are right. The letters have to travel and everything, so she’s probably almost to Dorothy by now. I hope so. I hope there’s not any sort of delay from Dorothy being injured. I hope they’re home soon. 

 

29 July 1614

I could never express how grateful I am for everything Dolora does for me. Today I was feeling tired and sore and sad like happens right before I get my bleeding and she sat there with me for a while because Sigmun was running errands and Simonn was with his siblings and I just didn’t want to be left alone right then. I know she has a lot to do and almost no time to rest on her own, and I’m just so grateful she’d spend time to sit with me when I’m scared to be alone. Maybe it’s strange, but that means a lot to me when my mother left me alone so often. 

 

1 August 1614

I was chatting with Mariek today in the village and Mariek mentioned how she was so sick of men who didn’t know the difference between yes and no, which is a lot of them. 

“After four years, I have to say prefer women. Most men are idiots. But women don’t usually like to sleep with me for obvious reasons.”

“Are you and Neolla…?”

“No. She doesn’t like men or women. Hell, she went to an all-boys school and didn’t take advantage. Not once.”

“Mariek…”

“S’true. But then, you only really care about your handsome lover…”

“Stop it! He’s not my lover.”

“I mean, I came back from my house on All Hallows’ and saw you two kissing like there was no tomorrow. Can’t believe you still had clothes on.” I can’t believe she saw that. And we were in public!

“Mariek!” I blushed scarlet.

“Well, it’d probably take too long with the bodice, right? Dolora would catch you.”

“Stop it!”

“Alright, alright,” she grinned. “Hey, what you and your lover do behind closed doors is your business.”

“Thank you.”

Neolla showed up just then. “Hello, Mariek. Hi, Dianna.” 

“Hey there, Neolla,” Mariek said, hugging her. Which is very rare, for both of them. I guess they talked it out. I hope so; there is plenty enough stress around here without them fighting or losing each other. 

 

3 August 1614

I had one of those dreams about the two girls I should know but can’t manage to last night. The older girl hugged me again, and she was crying, and she just kept saying it, over and over: “Thank you for being my mother. I love you.” I wish I knew. I guess it means I can have children, but there’s such a feeling inside when she hugs me, like I’m hopelessly sad and full of more joy than a person can contain at the same time. I have no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean. 

Anyways, today was alright. We got another letter from Hannah and I know they’re not the most recent ones she’s written, but at least we’re hearing from her. I’ll start to worry if she’s not back by late October, because it shouldn’t take that long to get to Austria and back. Simonn’s currently worrying, so I’m trying not to. 

 

5 August 1614

Simonn was looking through some papers today and when I asked him what they were he looked so sad, like he’d lost something and couldn’t remember it. 

“I don’t have a picture of Hannah.”

“Oh.”

“Next November, maybe we can get her in the picture of all of us.”

“Sure. “ 

“I could draw one from memory…” he said, staring at his pen. 

“You should. You’ve drawn all the rest of us enough times.”

Simonn nodded and picked up the pen and started drawing. I left him alone to finish and then Sigmun and I read a book of poetry and talked about it. 

 

6 August 1614

A letter came today. Hannah said she’s almost to the border. I know she’s probably on her way back by now, but at least she’s still writing. She said her sister speaks a little German, she thinks, so hopefully they can communicate with people better on the way back. 

 

8 August 1614

Today Sigmun and I read a book on Austria just because that’s where Hannah is and I kissed him just once before I left for home. Simonn didn’t stop by, so I guess one of his siblings must be in some sort of trouble. Probably one of them lost their shoes again. It’s fairly common for them. 

 

9 August 1614

There was a letter today. Hannah said she’s doing fine and all that and she’s not far now from her sister’s city. Also, Simonn lost his glass again, and this time Dolora found them for him. It must be how worried he is. 

We went to Hannah’s house today and saw her sisters, all three of us. Eleanor doesn’t talk much, but she’s kind, and Alice is a little immature, but she’s sweet. I like them; they’re nice people. 

 

11 August 1614

A letter today. Hannah’s in the city next to her sister’s city and she’s a little turned around and the city is very big and apparently kind of scary, but she’s sure she’ll be fine. I hope she’s not just saying that to make us feel better. 

 

14 August 1614

I’m tired and I wish I could sleep more, but it’s just so damn hot. I keep waking up covered in sweat, but not from nightmares. I mean, I wake up too warm, not that sort of sweat…I despise my own desires sometimes, even though I know I’m not the only one who feels that way. I have a hunch my love does…can I call him that? Can I call him my love? Well, it’s not as if anyone else would know if I just write it here. And I do love him, so…

I don’t care. I’ll call him my love if I want to. 

 

15 August 1614

A letter came today from Hannah saying she’s with her sister! They must be getting close by now, but at least she got her sister out. We know that for sure. 

Simonn looked about ready to cry with how happy he was, and he hugged me and Sigmun and Dolora and then he just danced around, all happy and giddy. “She’s alright,” he kept saying. “She’s alright and she’s coming home.” 

“Yes she is,” I said. 

He grinned and danced around some more. He must be so happy. I’d be overjoyed if I found out Sigmun was suddenly safe from some sort of danger, or at least halfway out. 

 

17 August 1614

Another letter today. Hannah said her sister speaks enough German to get by after all that time in Austria, so they’re going to be able to find their way back a bit quicker. I hope they find their way home quick. She also said that they might have to rest for a day or two so Dorothy can recover, but she’ll be alright and they’ll be home soon. 

Good luck to them both. 

 

19 August 1614

A letter today. It didn’t say much except that they were heading back that day, and that they were just fine. 

It’s been cooling down a bit. Not enough that I can sleep comfortably, but enough that I don’t wake up drenched in sweat. We go swimming almost every day, or just sit inside and read. I hate hunting when it’s hot like this, but I can’t survive otherwise, so I cope. 

 

20 August 1614

I saw Neolla and Mariek in the village and they were acting like they used to, all joking and friendly like they are. It would seem they made up, because when Sigmun and Simonn and I went to talk with them (if I ask them to come to the village with me because of the men, they always say yes), they were both smiling and properly happy. I’m glad of that. 

 

21 August 1614

Another letter today. Hannah and her sister are traveling and it seems no one’s following them, which Dorothy was worried about. But Hannah’s good at hiding and I think they’d be hard to follow anyways. Hannah can be very nondescript and hard to see when she wants to be and I bet Dorothy can be, too. 

 

23 August 1614

A letter came today and it wasn’t much new, but Simonn’s still on cloud nine all the time and I think he’ll start flying when she comes back. I hope they don’t get caught when they take a boat home, because stowing away is harder with two and they might be spotted and sent to prison, which is a nasty place to end up. They tell stories about prison, especially the prison in the palace, and it’s terrifying to think of Hannah and Dorothy some place like that. 

 

24 August 1614

Neolla left today. She hugged me so tight I thought she might break my back. I’m going to miss her. I didn’t see Mariek, but Neolla looked sad to leave and I saw she had a little sapphire-colored pin, one I always used to see Mariek wear. I hope they’re still best friends. They need each other. I wonder if they know how much they need each other, or if it’s something you don’t realize you have until you lose it. 

Maybe they’ll realize it someday. 

 

26 August 1614

Simonn misplaced his glasses again. He left them on the end table and when he went to look for them, he looked so tense. 

“Have you gotten a letter today?”

“No.” 

“Well, there’s this one,” I said, holding up a piece of paper someone had delivered today. “Hannah sent it for all of us, and it ended up here.”

Simonn grabbed the letter and read it so fast, like the words would disappear if he didn’t read them fast enough. “She’s alright,” he said, and it was more of a sigh than a statement. “She says she’s safe with her sister and they’re getting close to the border.” Good luck to them both. 

 

27 August 1614

Mariek came over again today and I think she likes to make me embarrassed. 

“How are things with you and Sigmun?” she asked. 

“Just fine.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” she pressed, raising her eyebrows. 

“No.” 

“Come on. Don’t tell me you’ve never done more than kiss him.”

I felt my whole face turn scarlet. “We’re not all like you, Mariek.”

“Oh, so you have! When?”

“We have not!”

“The lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

“MARIEK!”

“You said it yourself. C’mon, it’s not like I haven’t done more. Anyways, I bet you wish you were married already, if you know what I mean.”

“Excuse me!?”

“Oh, come on, you know what I mean. You wish you could sleep with him, share a bed with him, make sweet love to him, do the moonlight dance, do the horizontal figure eight, make the beast with two backs, see his—”

“Stop it!” My face was absolutely burning.

“I’ve got more.”

“Well, I don’t want to hear them.”

“Please. You know it’s true.”

“CAN YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE ABOUT—”

“Hi!” Sigmun called, back from collecting willow. “How’s it going?”

“Fine,” I snapped. “Mariek was just leaving.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“You are now.”

“Fine. See you soon.”

“Bye,” I said shortly.

“What was all that yelling about?” Sigmun asked.

“Nothing,” I sighed. “Nothing important, anyways. She’s just messing with my head again.”

“What about?”

I sighed. “You.”

“What do you mean, me?”

“I mean, she was teasing me about how you and me are…you know…together. Saying stuff about how you and I weren’t just kissing.”

“Oh.” He blushed crimson and looked at his feet. 

“I mean, she always says stuff like that,” I rushed. “She doesn’t mean anything by it. She doesn’t really think we’re…you know.”

“Okay.” He was still very red. 

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, it’s alright. I’m just…” He blushed harder and coughed. “Want to go swimming?”

“Sure.”

He nodded and we walked to the river, where we spent the rest of the day. 

 

29 August 1614

Another letter today. They’re getting close to the border of Austria, according to what people say. I’m not sure the borders are so well defined, but they are there. There are too many borders, especially in Germany. I suppose it would be more accurate to say “the German states”, but calling them Germany is easier. It’s like Italy that way. I just think borders cause many more problems than they solve. 

 

30 August 1614

Another letter today, saying they’re in one of the German states. The letters aren’t coming on time, certainly. But at least we know they’re closer to us than before. One of these days we’ll all be safe and sound. Hopefully before the next life, we will all end up home and safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone please tell me how I'm doing with the whole romance thing, because I'm gray-aro and ace so this isn't really my area of expertise.


	22. Come Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannah and Dorothy fight their way home. Sigmun starts dreaming some very strange dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dianna's poem in this chapter is extremely dark. 
> 
> Sorry about the long update! School and homework have kicked in and I haven't had a lot of writing time recently.

1 September 1614

I wish I didn’t feel so tired these days. At least it’s cooling off enough for me to sleep at night. And of course I can take naps sometimes when we all sit inside.

We haven’t heard from Hannah in a couple days and I can tell Simonn is starting to worry. That is, more than before. Dolora always makes him drink some tea when she sees him these days. I hope Hannah comes home safe, both because she’s my friend and thus I hope she’s safe and because Simonn is so tense and I hate seeing my friends in pain.

 

3 September 1614

Sigmun spent all of today curled up on the couch with his head in his hands and he said he had a headache, so I just sat next to him and read to myself. He eventually wrapped his arms around his legs and rested his head on his chin and said, “I had the strangest dream.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I guess…It was just…surreal. I mean, I guess it was some other world? Or maybe the future? I just had a dream I was graduating a university and there were women and people with dark skin and all sorts of people graduating, too. It was…it was great.” He sighed and turned to me. “Do you think I’m crazy?”

“Not at all.”

“It was odd, too. Everyone was wearing so much…less.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean, people were wearing these sort of short dresses and low cut tops and tight-fitting clothes…I was wearing a suit, only it wasn’t nearly as bad as my nice suit. I remember thinking how comfortable my normal clothes were.”

“That sounds wonderful, comfortable clothing.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that why you have a headache?”

“I think so.”

“Well, I hope you sleep well.”

“I’ll try to.”

“Want some tea?”

He shrugged. “I suppose.”

“You know, I reckon you’d feel a lot better.”

“Fine.” He started to stand up, but I said, “No, sit down. I’ll get you tea.”

He must’ve been tired, because he didn’t protest. But what a strange dream. I can’t imagine a future in which anyone could go to university. If only.

 

5 September 1614

A letter came today from Hannah, much to everyone’s relief. Simonn actually cried when he read it; I saw a teardrop on the paper.

She’s getting much closer to home. She’s pretty sure they’re somewhere in the German states. And Dorothy does speak a little German, so they’re making better progress than she did alone. There is Hannah’s advantage of having done the journey before, but getting food and all that must be easier when you can communicate.

I think Hannah’s sisters and grandmother might not be so sure she’s coming back. At least, Eleanor seems sure that they won’t see her again. Alice looked sad and asked me why I was so sure Hannah and Dorothy were coming home. The problem is, I’m not. But everyone else seems prepared to write them off as dead, so I figure I better be the optimist of the bunch. I can’t let on that I have this silly fear that someone killed her and is forging these letters from her, or that she’s lying about having Dorothy with her, or that they’ll be caught once they’re on the boat, or a million other things I fear.

I can’t let on how scared I am because everyone else is.

 

7 September 1614

I had a dream last night about something bizarre, except that I knew I was dreaming. So I figured I’d wake myself up and it was like dragging myself through mud. I woke up gasping and it was morning, so I got dressed and all that and headed to Sigmun and Dolora’s. But it was strange and very disorienting. I kept rubbing my hands together, trying to prove to myself that this wasn’t a dream.

I wrote today because I can never find my journal in my dreams, so this proves that I’m wide awake. I’m going to go to bed soon, though. I suppose I won’t be wide awake for long.

 

8 September 1614

Simonn left his glasses at Dolora’s again today. I brought them back to his house, but he wasn’t there, so I went to Hannah’s house, where he was reading Hannah’s letter to him again.

“Simonn?”

“Dianna? What is it?”

“Your glasses. You left them behind.”

“Really? Thank you so much!” He hugged me tightly and I wouldn’t mind except he’s about a foot taller than me.

“Simonn—Simonn. I’m glad you’re glad, but you’re hurting me.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He let go and let out a breathy, nervous sort of laugh. “I thought I’d have to buy a new pair.”

“You’re always doing this. You should keep them on a chain or something,” I commented.

“I should,” he said absentmindedly. He was holding a letter tightly and tensely and I knew it was from Hannah.

“Letter from Hannah? What’s it say?”

“She’s going to be crossing one of the warring states soon, unless she can figure a way around it.”

“She’s probably out of it by now.”

“Don’t make me anxious or anything.”

“Don’t worry about her. She’ll be just fine.”

“Will be.”

“Pardon?”

“She might not be fine. She might be in trouble or something.”

“But she will be home. Alright? Just believe that.”

“I do. I have to.” 

I know he must be living off hope right now and it worries me, because hope is certainly something one can live off of, but if Hannah doesn’t come back, he won’t have anything else. 

 

10 September 1614

A letter came today saying they’re still in the German states but taking a quick break somewhere. It must be for Dorothy. She might be more injured than Hannah’s letting on. I hope it’s nothing Dolora can’t fix. I’d like to think so, but I wouldn’t underestimate the power of irrational anger. 

 

11 September 1614

I had such an awful nightmare last night. It was just…I can’t describe it. It was horrible. I didn’t get much sleep after that, so today I took a nap at Sigmun and Dolora’s. I suppose it could’ve been a worse day, but I can’t help but let the nightmares get to me sometimes. Sigmun’s sweet about it, though. I wish there was something I could do for him. 

 

12 September 1614

I was in the market today and I saw a new person in the village. I know most of the village looks at me oddly, because who ever heard of a woman living on her own before her husband dying, but I know everyone there, of course. The new person was kind of tallish, with dark hair and long limbs. I think he was twenty or twenty-five. I didn’t find out his name, but the gossipers of the village will find out. (I’d say the gossipy women, but it seems to me men gossip just as much, except they don’t call it gossip.)

There was a letter today. Hannah and Dorothy have gone around the warring state and are probably two or three weeks from home. 

 

14 September 1614

Simonn lost his glasses yet again today, but Dolora found them and had Sigmun take them back. Hannah’s letter came today, too, and Simonn started pacing nervously because the area between the German states and France is notorious for being dangerous, so they’ll be in danger again soon. That is, more than usual. 

We picked some late berries this year. They were quite good. 

 

15 September 1614

I realized I forgot to write on my own birthday! It wasn’t all that eventful. I’m nineteen now and Dolora made a nice supper and a cake and all that. Also Sigmun gave me this lovely bunch of dried flowers and Simonn gave me a pair of knit gloves. I felt very…loved. 

 

17 September 1614

Today was one of those days that felt longer than twenty-four hours, and at the same time I can’t believe it’s already time to go to sleep. I wonder sometimes how I ever stood to wake up with so much weight on my chest. That awful knot that used to sit like a stone my chest seems to be completely untied, though I think the ropes will always be there among my other heartstrings. I can never change what she did to me, but I do think I can move on and live a proper life. 

 

18 September 1614

I never really realized exactly how good it feels to be healthy. I just noticed today how alive I look when I was brushing my hair and I know it’s been more than a year, but it was twelve years before that and so this one lovely year seems a little smaller in comparison. I just feel so good. I feel alive, and healthy, and happy. 

 

21 September 1614

Poor Eleanor! I guess no one ever explained to her about the monthly bleeding, because today she started hers and…it was interesting.

Apparently, Eleanor went to Simonn and told him that she was bleeding. He said, “Where? Oh, never mind that, we’re going to Dolora’s, come on.” And of course Sigmun answered the door. I heard Simonn say, “She’s bleeding!”

“What? I’m going to go get Mama!” I had a hunch that Eleanor was fine, because she is sixteen, so I went over to the door and Eleanor was clutching her stomach and looking very upset.

“Eleanor? Is it…?”

She nodded and I sighed. “Dolora! Where’s the pain medicine?”

“Blue jar in the cupboard, Dianna dear. Is it for Eleanor?”

“Yeah.”

“Pain medicine?! She’s bleeding!” Simonn yelled.

“Simonn, calm down, she’s fine. Just go check up on Alice or something,” I said. “And take Sigmun.”

“Why?”

“Just…trust me. Eleanor is fine, but I’ll bet anything she doesn’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not? What’s wrong?”

“I’ll explain later. Or Dolora will. Okay?”

He looked nervous. “Fine,” he said, finally. “Sigmun? We’re being told to leave.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

Sigmun sighed and followed Simonn somewhere. When I reentered the living room, Dolora was talking to Eleanor and I had a cup of pain medicine, all mushed and mixed with water so you can drink it. “Here,” I said. “This’ll help if it hurts at all.”

“How much do I owe you?” Eleanor asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dolora said. “You can have as much as you need.” Dolora makes plenty of money selling the pain medicine, but she doesn’t seem to mind giving it away if someone can’t afford it or if someone is family. I guess Eleanor counts as both.

“Thank you.” She drank the whole cup in two gulps and clutched her stomach again. “Uh…I’m very sorry, but…what’s happening?”

“It’ll happen every month or so, unless you’re not eating enough or pregnant,” Dolora said. She explained the entire thing to Eleanor, who’d clearly never had it explained to her, ever. Poor girl.

“So…I’m not hurt?”

“You’re perfectly healthy, dear.”

“And I’m not in trouble?”

“Of course not.”

Eleanor sighed and brushed her hair out of her eyes. “My father always said it was a bad thing…He said it only happened to bad girls.”

“Every woman gets her monthly bleeding at some point,” Dolora reassured her. “Your father was wrong.”

Eleanor nodded again. “What am I gonna tell Simonn?”

“I’ll explain this to him,” Dolora said, a resigned sort of look on her face. “Don’t forget to eat your vegetables and drink plenty of water. That’ll make it hurt less.”

Eleanor nodded once more and stood up. “Thank you, Ms. Maryam.”

“Any time, dear. Dianna will walk you home.”

“Mm-hmm.” I know Eleanor trusts me, because Hannah calls me her friend. Anyways, I walked her home and she was shy, but she asked a few more questions and I answered all of them because she deserves answers. As far as I know, almost nobody gets told anything about this and I think that’s ridiculous. It happens to everyone and I think it’s better to know what’s going on. I would’ve been terrified if Dolora hadn’t explained it to me when I was fifteen.

Anyways, Eleanor’s alright, Dolora explained it to Sigmun and Simonn, and Eleanor has plenty enough pain medicine to last her a while. Eleanor said she’d explain it to Alice and I made Simonn add it in his letter to Hannah, just so she’d know. Hannah would want to know.

 

22 September 1614

Another letter from Hannah today. She's somewhere in France now. Simonn read it three times over before letting Sigmun and I have a look. She usually writes her letters to all of us, though sometimes they’re just for Simonn. I doubt Hannah would write anything like some of the romance novels, but I also know that I would never let anyone read my letters to Sigmun or his to me, so it’s probably more like that. I’m just glad we hear from her at all.

 

24 September 1614

She should be coming back soon. Her letter today said she’s still in France, but she thinks she’s getting closer to the coast. I hope they can find a ship to stow away on without getting caught. The very idea of any of my friends in prison is absolutely terrifying. I just…I can’t stand the thought. I don’t think anyone around here grows up without hearing rumors about prison and being terrified of the place. 

Maybe that’s the point. 

 

26 September 1614

Another letter today. They’re almost to the coast, and they might have to take a rest there before they find a boat home. I hope they’re alright. I hope they come home safe. It terrifies me to know that they might not. I mean, I’m usually scared of something, and this is what it is right now. 

 

28 September 1614

I had a bad night last night, worse than it’s been since…well, since March (I get a shiver just writing it). I was so tired today that I was cold, so I wore my winter clothes. Sigmun and Simonn looked concerned, but I promised them I really was just cold this time, and maybe a little tired, too. I didn’t tell them about the nightmares last night, though. I think I’d scare them. 

 

29 September 1614

Today we were talking about the palace and Sigmun mentioned how they come to our village for servants. 

“Like that time back in…it must have been 1611, when we were sixteen? And we fell into a ditch and my nose started bleeding…”

“I remember that!”

“You better, my nose was bleeding because it hit your head,” he teased. 

“Oh, really?”

“You fell on top of me, it wasn’t like I went completely uninjured!”

“Fair point. It’s not exactly my favorite memory ever.”

“Whyever not?”

“You’re silly.” 

“So are you.”

“Well, you’re sillier.”

He grinned. “That reminds me, would you like to stay for dinner tonight? Mama’s inviting some of her village friends over.” 

“You make it sounds so scary.”

He laughed. “Sorry. It’s…you know. I don’t want to spend an evening with my mother’s friends. They’d probably all be asking me when I’m going to get married and get a job and all that.”

“And they won’t ask me?”

“Well, it’ll be more bearable if you’re there.” 

“Sure, I’ll stay. You know I like staying for supper.”

“You could stay any time you like. Really.”

“I have leftover stew at home to finish most nights, you know that.”

“I know.” He grinned again and rested his head on my shoulder. “You’re the best.”

“No, you are.”

He smiled again and said, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too.”

 

1 October 1614

All Hallows’ should be fun this year. I wonder if Richard will try to rope his little siblings into pulling off some sort of prank. It makes me a little sad that we’re not young enough anymore for things like that. Growing up just seems so…I don’t know. Saddening? That’s not quite it. Oh, who knows. I just feel a little nostalgic for the things children could do. 

 

2 October 1614

I really should find a job somewhere. I’ll need money, because I know hunting won’t buy me clothes or lard or milk or anything else I need. I guess I’ll ask the other two seamstresses. I’m just…scared. Kind of. I’m worried I’ll turn out like my mother, drinking my life away because I can’t face my world. Is that silly to fear? Maybe it is, but I fear it anyways. 

 

4 October 1614

A letter came today from Hannah. She’s getting on ship today and heading home with Dorothy. They should be home in just two or three or maybe four days now. Simonn looked so relieved, and so tense at the same time. Poor Simonn. 

At least Hannah and Dorothy are safe, sort of. I don’t know if they feel safe, but they’ll be home soon. And it’ll be safer once they’re back in our country. 

 

5 October 1614

Another letter today. Hannah wrote that she was in the country safe with Dorothy and she would be home in two days. She said it would be her last letter and not to worry at all, and also ask if we could tell her grandmother that she was almost home. (Hannah’s grandmother can’t read. Neither can Alice, and Eleanor can only read a little, so Simonn read the letters to them aloud.) 

Simonn had this big, goofy smile on his face all day and he didn’t read, he couldn’t focus on anything. He’s so sweet. 

 

7 October 1614

Hannah came back today! She’s fine, save a few cuts and a few lost pounds. Her sister and her both look exhausted, and their grandmother was almost sobbing when Sigmun and I went with Simonn to see Hannah (because he was so nervous I thought he’d shake himself to pieces).

“What’s wrong, Mrs. Morgan?” I asked. (She’s Hannah’s mother’s mother, so her last name isn’t Megido.)

“My baby’s alright,” she said. “My baby’s okay…” She buried her face in her hands and kept sobbing. I sat next to her and nodded for Simonn and Sigmun to go see Hannah and Dorothy. Sigmun can be incredibly tactless sometimes, so I figured it was best that I talk to Mrs. Morgan.

“Hey, it’s alright, Mrs. Morgan. It’s alright. They’re safe now. We’re all safe.”

“Thank you, Dianna.”

“Any time, Mrs. Morgan. I swear that all of us will keep all of them safe.”

“My poor granddaughters…” Hannah’s grandmother cares about them so much. She shook herself and stood up. “Time to make dinner. Would you like to help?”

“Sure. I’m just going to say hi to Hannah and Dorothy first.”

“Of course.”

I went to the bedroom Hannah shares with Alice and Eleanor, and Dorothy too, now, (Hannah’s grandmother’s house only has two bedrooms) to greet them and Hannah was half asleep, and Dorothy still had a bruise-colored tint on her skin. Simonn was almost crying with relief. “Dianna,” Hannah said. “My big sister Dorothy.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dorothy said. “Hannah told me all about you. She told me about all her friends.”

“Really?”

“Not much else to talk about while traveling the continent.”

“How’d you manage that?” Sigmun asked. Simonn had moved so he was sitting next to Hannah and he’d wrapped his arms around her waist protectively, like he was afraid to let go, lest someone snatch her away. She was leaning up against him with her eyes half-closed, exhausted and probably starving.

“Hitching onto carriages and such. Found a couple of horses in a field, and we rode them for a while,” Dorothy answered. “We did what we had to do.”

Hannah nodded grimly. “It’s alright, though. We don’t have to worry about him. There’s no way he’d come here, and even if he did, we’d have warning.”

“And you’ve got your beau to protect you,” Dorothy teased.

“Dorothy!”

“I’m teasing, little sister. You don’t need anyone to protect you anymore than I do. But you’re lucky. All of you.”

“What do you mean?” Simonn asked.

“You all have each other, and you’re all safe,” Dorothy said. “That is pretty damn lucky.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Dorothy. I said I’d help with dinner, though, so I’m going to go.” I could tell they should be left alone, with family.

“I will, too,” Sigmun added. I guess he’s not completely senseless.

At any rate, we had a nice dinner before I reminded Simonn that he had to go home to put his siblings to bed and Sigmun had to go home to Dolora and I had to go home before it got dark. Sigmun offered to walk me home, but I told him I was fine. And I was. But it is still odd living alone.

If only more men were like Sigmun and Simonn. It would certainly make a nicer world overall, especially for those of us who’ve experienced what men do to women. I’m glad Dorothy’s safe, though. She can find a job and get on with her life, hopefully. I doubt she’ll want to marry again, but she might. Either way, I hope she’s happy.

 

8 October 1614

Hannah came over today again and sat with us while we read and talked. She seemed just so tired, so ready to let someone else take the weight. She ended up napping all curled up on the couch and Simonn sat next to her and stroked her hair, all gentle and soft. he had this look of tenderness and concern and I don’t think he knows I saw him. 

Hannah also wanted to tell us how grateful she was for our help. So I suppose she got our letters. I’m glad she did. 

 

10 October 1614

Dolora made us all tea today, which was nice because I had another bad night last night. Hannah was over, too, and she and Simonn sat next to each other close like Sigmun and I do sometimes. 

Simonn had to leave to check on siblings, but Hannah stayed with her cup of tea. 

“Do you have any stories about your adventure to Austria?” I asked. I was curious. 

“Well…I was walking through this one village, in Germany, but I don’t speak much German, I mean I speak a little, but this random lady came up to me and asked me…well, I don’t know what she asked me, but she was so angry and I just didn’t know what to say, so I said, ‘Danke’, because it was the first thing that came to mind, and she kept talking and then said, ‘Gretta?’ and I said, ‘No, Hannah,’ and she said, ‘Ah. Es tut mir leid.’ At least, that’s what I think she said. And then she gave me a flower and then walked off! I still don’t know what she said. But it was a nice flower and so I wore it in my hair for a lot of the rest of the trip. I…I still have it.” She showed me a dried flower she’d tucked into her dress. It was very pretty, and I could tell it was once a lovely shade of maroon. Hannah kept talking, and she told me all these wonderful stories she’d gathered and all these other countries she’d seen. 

Of all people, I never thought Hannah would be the one to cross the continent and live to tell the tale. But I’m glad she did. 

 

11 October 1614

Neolla’s birthday today. She’ll be home from school for good in June this year, with her degree and everything. I can’t believe it. It amuses me that at her school, there are people who are refusing to let girls in while one of their top students (Neolla says she’s number two in the class) is a girl. And she’s found one or two other girls in the school, and there are probably more. She says you can tell them because they’re the ones who check every single other person in the school for some sign that they’re not alone. 

I wish I had the money to go to school. Besides that I could ever pass for a boy for that long (my voice is much too high), I’d be terrified to go someplace so far away without knowing anybody. Since I was six I have never lived a day without knowing that my best friends would be there if I needed them and I’d be so scared to lose that. 

 

23 October 1614

Somehow my journal got lost in Mother’s room, where I never go anymore. Which is why I didn’t find. The last time I was there was a week and a half ago when I was trying to find her old clothes to use for quilts. 

I had a nightmare about the birdcage last night. That stupid birdcage. 

 

25 October 1614

I wrote a poem today. I’m not really sure why I wrote it, but I did.

To A Little Girl

Eat up, eat up, eat all you wish  
Eat all that’s put upon your dish  
As long as Mother says it’s okay  
You’ll eat and eat till you waste away

Pretty little girl in a pretty little dress  
Pretty little mind, pretty little mess  
Pretty little face, pretty little eyes  
Pretty little words full of pretty little lies

See too little, see too much  
Just keep on playing Double Dutch  
You have no choice; keep on going  
Even as your heartbeat’s slowing

There is a place where sky and sea touch  
You may find it one day, when it’s all too much  
They watch failed birds fall from the cliff  
And wonder as the cold bodies grow stiff

Sleep is escape, the place you’ll find dreams  
Some with smiles, and some with screams  
But you’re not afraid, of course you’re not  
Fear is just too easily taught

Broken bottles, both empty and full  
Makes no difference to hands which pull  
Hair from your head because it’s too late  
A mother’s love for which you can no longer wait

Hiding, hiding, the favorite game  
Climbing, climbing, all in vain  
Running, running, she’s on your tail  
Screaming, screaming, your voice goes stale

Little girl plays, little girl laughs  
Little girl runs till she’s out of breath  
Little girl sings, little girl teases  
Little girl hangs and little girl freezes

 

26 October 1614

I must have been feeling pretty dark yesterday. I just think about my mother a lot, I still do. I know it’s useless, but I worry. I wish she’d never taken me in, I wish Dolora had been old enough to adopt me, I wish I could just erase everything she did to me. I wish I could change my childhood to something more like Sigmun’s, something safe and protected and loved. 

 

28 October 1614

Dolora was looking through her medicine cabinet today and she sighed. “I need to go to the city.”

“Why?” I asked. 

“I need more of the herbs the traders bring back.”

“Aren’t the ones here enough?”

“Sometimes. But most other countries have better medicine than we do. Traders bring their books back and I study them.”

“Oh.” I paused. “What’s different about their medicine?”

“Well, keeping clean, largely. Quarantining victims of diseases. Disease would seem to be transmitted by small pieces of it leaving the body through coughing or sneezing, as opposed to miasmas. They’ve created a lot of very effective remedies. I listen and study the books because heaven knows no one else does. Either way, I really ought to go to the city to replenish my supplies.”

“You could ask Rose to bring you some herbs.”

I saw Dolora’s cheeks turn pink. “I suppose I could.” 

“I mean, you don’t have to leave,” I added, a little anxiously. I’m still afraid sometimes from March and it’s very comforting to know that Dolora is always there. 

“I suppose not. Then…” She trailed off and started talking to herself, making lists like she does. “I’ll have to write to Rose. I’ll need books, if she can get any, kanna definitely, and ginseng, devil’s claw, buchu, camphor…” 

“Dolora?”

“Hm?”

“Do you have a list of all the herbs and what they do, or do you just remember them?”

“I suppose I’ve just memorized over time. I ought to make a list, though. And label my jars. Oh, and I have to boil the bandages…”

She looked so tired and stressed, like she hadn’t slept in days. 

“Dolora?”

“Yes?”

“Are you alright?”

She looked up at me in surprise. “What do you mean, dear?”

“You look very tense.”

She sighed. “It’s been a long week.”

“You should rest, then! You said not resting enough makes people sick.” 

She shrugged. “I have work to do.” 

“I have hunting to do, and I’m still resting. And so is Simonn.” (Simonn was reading in the library, and Sigmun was out buying fabric.) 

“Dear, it’s…” She sighed and made a gesture. “I have to write that letter.”

I wanted to persuade her to rest, because it’s obvious she needs it, but she stood and left to find paper. I’ve never really considered worrying about Dolora before, but maybe it’s just that since I was little, she’s always been invincible. And now she’s not; she’s just as vulnerable as anyone else. But she’s still my mother, and I think to me she will always be invincible.

 

31 October 1614

Today was All Hallows’ Eve, and it was the best it’s ever been. The sun was out, but it was kind of chilly (like it usually is), so we were all wearing our cloaks and nice winter clothes. Sigmun and Simonn don’t usually wear the tights and breeches, but they do for the festivals. I really like how my nice dress turned out, actually. It’s comfortable and it fits just right and I like how it looks on me. 

But that’s not really the point. It was lovely and there were fall flowers and colored leaves everywhere and children collecting sweets and the whole village was bright and beautiful and full of happiness. Everyone was saying high to each other, even Mr. Gregory, who never talks much to anyone. I don’t know everyone in the village personally, but I know most of their names. There can’t be more than two thousand of us, probably less than that. They say there’s more than a hundred thousand people in the city. I can’t even imagine a hundred thousand people, like I can’t imagine the sea. 

We all spent time in the square together, Sigmun and Simonn and Hannah and Neolla and Mariek and I. Dolora was with her village friends close by us, all women and mostly women who have children. (Which is most of them, but I mean living children.) I suppose she met them through work. 

This was the first year the Mr. Jacobson (the fiddler and the baker) played music at All Hallows’. He played all the fun songs, the ones with complicated dances I think everyone’s been doing since they were old enough to walk. Simonn didn’t want to dance, but Hannah took his hands and he softened and danced with the rest of us. Mariek and Neolla were dance partners like Sigmun and I and they were very good. Sigmun stepped on my foot once, but it made me laugh because I was so happy. He’s a very good dancer. 

After dancing, Sigmun and I walked around a little and when he kissed me, his lips were warm and reminded me of the way fall air smells. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it was a nice and sweet one, and one that made me feel very loved. 

Around seven, we headed back to Sigmun and Dolora’s home for dinner. Dolora made that stew she makes and mashed potatoes and Yorkshire pudding (even though we obviously don’t live in Yorkshire) and all the rest of that delicious food she makes. I wish she’d told us when she was going back to make supper, because I would have helped her. 

We were up quite late. Hannah left around eight for her family and Neolla and Mariek not long afterwards. Simonn and I stayed until ten, when he went home. He says he saves All Hallows’ for himself every year, so he can spend time with both his families. I’m staying the night, because I’m scared to walk home in the dark and because it’s just so much more comfortable at their home. I suppose it’s my home, too, in a way. It’s where I belong. 

It’s past midnight, the latest I’ve ever stayed up. It’s certainly time for bed. I’ve never had so much fun on All Hallows’ and I hope it’s like this every year. I hope I don’t have to be so sad and scared as I was again.


	23. The Working World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna joins the working world. Rose comes to visit.

1 November 1614

All Saint’s Day today! The whole village seemed to be in the square and the park and the market. I even saw Mr. and Mrs. Smith who used to be the blacksmith, and they hardly ever leave their home because they have trouble moving. Dolora says it’s something in their bones. 

Anyways, Mr. Jacobson came with his fiddle again, and so did Mrs. Topham the tailor’s wife. Simonn’s still not an excellent dancer, certainly not the way Sigmun is, but he’s getting better. He danced with Hannah and she looked so nervous, but in that butterflies-in-the-stomach way, like back in June a couple years ago. I scraped together my remaining pennies to buy sweets for my friends again, and as it turns out Sigmun decided to do that as well. So I ended up with more sweets than I really planned to eat, but it wasn’t so bad because it what circumstances are sweets bad? 

After the dancing, we went to the park and sat together and talked about lighthearted things. Sigmun kept his arm around my waist for the whole time and it made me feel all bubbly and full of butterflies. It’s very sweet, the way he does that. I don’t think he really thinks about it, either; I think he just does things like that. 

Supper was delicious and warm and all sorts of people from the village were there, Sigmun and Simonn and our friends and some of Dolora’s village friends and I just felt so light, and so happy. I didn’t realize how wonderful it could feel to be happy and to be safe, or at least reasonably so. It was just so wonderful. I thought I’d start crying, I was so full of feelings. 

I’m staying the night again, and I think I might sleep well tonight. I like how warm this house is and I like how heavy Dolora’s blankets are. It’s like being hugged. I think it would be nice to live here all the time. I suppose Sigmun and I would live at my house, which is too bad, because my house really isn’t as nice. But maybe if we live there together and with our children (hopefully), it will be warmer and kinder than when I lived there with my mother or now, when I live there alone. 

 

2 November 1614

It snowed today, a bit early in the season, but it was only a light sort of snow that doesn’t stick. It was nice to walk in, at any rate. I haven’t taken a long walk in a while, besides the walk from my house to Sigmun and Dolora’s, or into the village or--basically, I haven’t gone for a walk without a purpose in quite a while. But today I did and it was very calming. There is so much stress in the world and taking a walk seemed to negate just enough that the world seemed a bearable weight. 

 

4 November 1614

I asked one of the seamstresses if I could have a job at their store today, the one on the east side. She said I had to be over the age of twenty-one to work there. I suppose I can ask the one in the center of town tomorrow, but I’m starting to worry if anyone’s hiring a strange short girl with no proper parents anymore. 

 

6 November 1614

Sigmun’s been asking around for a job, too. They all give excuses, but I know they just don’t want to hire an illegitimate. I wish they would; he’s certainly just as clever and I think just as strong as any other person. And he’s much kinder than most men I’ve encountered. I think it’s so ridiculous! A child can’t choose whether or not to have a father the way they can’t choose their gender or skin color or who they love. It’s just so…ugh! It’s so frustrating, the way people choose which “sorts” of people they’ll associate with. 

The wanting feeling keeps getting stronger and I wish it wouldn’t, it just makes all that shame my mother insisted I feel worse. 

 

9 November 1614

It snowed again today, but it stayed this time. I finally gave in and took out my thick winter cloak. I like to embroider the bottoms of my cloaks (embroidery is irritating, but so lovely), and this one looked so bright against the brown trees and gray sky and white snow. Sigmun’s cloak is just solid grey, because he says it matches winter. Simonn’s cloak is absolutely threadbare and a sort of yellow-brown color, but not a sick sort of color, more like leaves in October when they’re yellow and not quite dead yet. I don’t know why I count this as important, but I feel like there are details no one remembers when they’re old and I don’t want to forget all the little details that make up my life, like the way Dolora organizes her books by the author’s last name and the way Simonn’s hair sticks up just so when it’s windy and the way Sigmun holds history books different from novels. I don’t want to forget. 

 

11 November 1614

Rose is visiting for real this December, after months of having other things happen at the same time as her planned visits. She’s going to bring all the supplies Dolora needs for her medicines and hopefully some more books. Dolora says we should be bathing at least once a week like they do in other countries because that’s probably why they get sick less. I trust her with my life and I have noticed that those who bathe less often seem to get sick more. I suppose I could try and see. 

 

12 November 1614

It’s actually quite refreshing to take a bath at the end of a day. I tried it last night and it made me feel so relaxed and renewed, even though my hair was absolutely a mess. It was also kind of calming to brush my hair while I looked in the mirror. I found myself taking stock of my features, too. I made this strange sort of list: big green eyes, button-shaped nose, long thick brown hair… I don’t know why. I guess I’ve just never looked at myself without a prejudice against myself. 

I have to do laundry tomorrow. I can’t let myself forget again!

 

14 November 1614

I’m preparing myself to go to the village and just ask. I still get a little nervous just walking to the village, I don’t know how I can hope to ask someone for a job a third time. If I don’t find a job here, I’ll be in trouble. 

Sigmun and I went for a walk to the creek today and we sat by the banks and I’ve never realized how warm a person can be when it’s cold outside. I kind of like that he’s a little taller than me because when we sit next to each other, his shoulder is just the right height for me to rest my head on and when he hugs me, I can hear his heartbeat and that’s very comforting to me. It’s a bit different with Simonn because he’s tall enough that it’s almost awkward to hug him. But I don’t really mind; he’s my best friend, after all. 

 

15 November 1614

Simonn drew us all today. He had Dolora sit in her rocking chair and Sigmun and I stood on one side with his arm around my waist and Hannah stand on the other side. He drew himself with his arm around Hannah’s shoulders. She was smiling a little bigger in the drawing, and he definitely made me prettier than I am. He drew Sigmun’s hair a little flatter and Dolora’s face a bit younger and I think he was drawing a little bit of what he wishes he saw in us. Hannah still looks scared most of the time, and I can’t always feel as good as I wish I could, and Sigmun always seems a little too stressed, and Dolora looks older than her thirty-five years. 

Either way, it was a lovely picture and I wish he could color it. But color ink is so expensive I don’t think even the nobles can afford it sometimes. 

 

17 November 1614

I did it! I asked the seamstress in the center of town for a job and they said I could work there! I start in two days. Oh, I can’t wait! I have a job! I can by fabric and milk and lard and all those other things I need! I almost danced to Dolora and Sigmun’s today because I was so happy!

I feel a little guilty about being so happy when Sigmun still can’t find a job, but he seemed happy for me. I hope he can find a job, too. I just want my family to be happy. 

 

19 November 1614

Today was my first day of work! I showed up at eight, just like the lady who’s in charge (Pamela, not a very kind woman) told me. All the other women who work there (Johanna, Susan, Jane, and Agnes) and one man (David) were there, too, in various states of exhaustion. Agnes looks about Dolora’s age. I think Johanna is a year or two older than me, and Jane is at least twenty-three, probably older. I couldn’t really tell with Susan, but I think she’s roughly my age. David is twenty-five or so, I think. 

My job there is sewing buttonholes. The others who work there sew bad buttonholes, apparently, because so far I have done the buttonholes for at least fifteen men’s shirts. Pamela, the women in charge, is not exactly what one might call kind. She seems to take offense to the fact that we need to eat lunch in order to survive. And she was all snappish when I sewed one buttonhole a little out of place. I could fix a mistake like that in a heartbeat, and I think I might start doing that if she’s going to scream at me for every little mistake!

My coworkers seem alright, for the most part. Johanna clearly wants to be in charge, but she’s only been working here a few months longer than me. Susan hardly spoke. Jane went on and on about her handsome fiancé in France who’s coming here in (believe it or not) a few years. Agnes didn’t talk much, and when she did she was gruff, but something about her suggests (to me, at least) that she’s defending herself. David seems to be that sort of man who thinks himself entitled to whatever women he wants, and thinks we’re all playing or teasing him when we tell him to go away. What a bloody joy to work with. 

 

20 November 1614

Work seems to be going well. It’s only my second day, so how could I say? But I’m doing my job and getting along with Susan and Jane and Agnes (sort of). Johanna doesn’t talk to me. I think she doesn’t like me because she does buttons and I do buttonholes and I work faster than she does by a mile. To be fair, that would probably irritate me, too. But I wish we could get along, or else these long weekdays in that stuffy back could get miserable. 

I work from eight to three five days a week, which is less than most people work, but I’m new and I don’t need that much money, just enough to buy a few necessities like cloth and such. I can find and grow my own food. I just hope this turns out well! 

 

22 November 1614

Work is such a part of my daily routine now, after only a few days. I get up, I work, I hunt if I need to, I go to Sigmun and Dolora’s, I cook if I need to, I write, I sleep. It’s certainly not the most riveting job ever, but it’s something to earn me the money I need. 

The only bad part is how raw my fingers get after poking myself with the needle over and over again. It’s next to impossible to sew buttonholes with a thimble on for me, so I’m a bit stuck with the soreness of my fingers. It usually doesn’t bleed, not much anyways. 

 

1 December 1614

There hasn’t been much to write about, so I haven’t been writing. But Rose comes tomorrow and she’s staying for two weeks. Dolora’s been fairly frantic trying to clean up that storage room that was a guest room when her uncle George and aunt Geraldine lived here. (I just found out today who lived in this house before Dolora.) I wanted to help, but she told me not to bother. I think she wants to impress Rose with her home and all that. I don’t think Rose cares all that much; she’s clearly in love with Dolora. 

Advent started yesterday. I lit the first candle and watched it burn with a sort of feeling in my gut like I was watching something sacred. I don’t know if that makes sense, but it’s just how I feel. I can’t bother worrying about what I’m suppose to feel, or if my feelings make sense. My feelings are my own and I’m the one who has the choice about what to do with them. 

 

2 December 1614

Rose arrived today! It was terribly snowy, so when I finally got to Dolora and Sigmun’s after work, Rose was sitting by the fire, shivering. 

“Bit cold out,” I commented. 

“No kidding,” she agreed. “I try to avoid traveling in summer if I can help it, though.” 

“Do you travel much?”

“A fair amount.” 

“Why?”

“For my second job,” she said, which I suppose means her job as a revolutionary. 

I nodded. “How long are you staying?”

“Two weeks. Then I have to go home for a family Christmas,” she says, rolling her eyes like she’s only as old as I am. Not that she’s old, but she’s an adult while I still feel like a child. I don’t think I could ever feel like an adult. I’m just nineteen! I don’t even know how to wear a hoop skirt properly, much less do adult things like run a household. 

Anyways, Dolora seemed to be smiling quite a bit more. I was glad to see her so happy. I’m glad we’ve all found someone. 

 

3 December 1614

It snowed for the whole day today, beautifully. Work was alright, as I think my coworkers don’t hate me, mostly. I know Susan’s kind, and Jane is nice if chatty and a bit self-centered. I mean, they’re all tolerable besides Pamela and David, who is the sort of man to tell a girl on the street to give him a smile and then get mad when she ignores him and walks away. But other than that it’s tolerable.

Rose was there again today and I saw her take Dolora’s hand and hold it while they were cooking. It was very cute. I’m glad they’re so happy. 

 

5 December 1614

I dreamed about those two girls again last night. I wish I knew who they were! I’d like to at least know why the older girl seems to love me, when I haven’t done anything for her. I wish I knew! It’s just so odd…

Dolora seemed so light today. Sigmun kept blushing red as a sunset, and Simonn just seemed happy Hannah was home. Still. 

 

17 December 1614

Rose left today after an uneventful visit. She kissed Dolora goodbye and she seemed so sad to go. I saw how much Dolora already missed her. I know they love each other, even if they can hardly ever see each other. It’s sort of bittersweet, how separated they are. It’s like a romance novel I once read, something about two lovers who were sent to different sides of the continent and traveled across to find each other, like Hannah and Dorothy except with romance. 

I worry that Sigmun and I might be separated someday, but I also know that we can write letters. I hope we can. I never want to lose my friends, any of them. I worry. 

 

19 December 1614

Today was a strange day. 

I was sitting in the library with a book of romance poetry with Sigmun when someone knocked on the door quite frantically. Usually it’s family of sick people who do that, and then Dolora leaves for a few hours before she comes back, exhausted and hungry. So I went to answer the door and there were three girls stand there. They might’ve been sisters, or cousins. Either way, the middle girl was supported by the other two and she looked like she’d been attacked somehow. 

“Are you Maryam?”

“No. Let me get her. What happened?”

“Her husband beat her because she burned dinner. The doctor won’t treat her.”

“I’ll be right back.” I ran inside and shouted, “Dolora!”

“What is it, dear?”

“There’s a woman here who needs your help.”

She ran to the front room from wherever she was and added, “Go get bandages and my clean needle and thread. Tell Sigmun to get the usual herbs.”

I nodded and did what she told me, because I knew it was urgent. 

Dolora set the woman on a clean sheet on the couch with her head higher than her heart. Dolora always says that’s important, though I don’t know why. “What happened, Beth?” 

“My husband,” she choked. “I burned dinner…it’s all my fault.”

Dolora nodded and set about bandaging her cuts. She had me mix up some pain medicine and a medicine for blood loss. The woman--Beth, she works at the baker’s and she’s one of Dolora’s friends--looked at the ceiling without really seeing it. Normally, this sort of thing happens at night, or while I’m at work, or while we were in the woods when I was younger. But I don’t think it’s usually quite this bad. 

“Do you have anywhere to stay tonight?” Dolora asked. 

She shook her head. “I can’t go home until tomorrow. He’ll forgive me then.”

Dolora nodded. “It’s not your fault. Remember that. This is not your fault.”

“I burned supper…”

“You made a mistake. This is his fault and not yours. Alright?”

She nodded.

“I’m going to make some broth and bread for you to eat. Drink some water,” Dolora said, placing a glass on the table. “And tell me if the pain comes back. I can mix up some more medicine.”

Beth nodded again and sighed heavily. “Thank you, Ms. Maryam.”

“Any time. Now, stay awake, but rest.”

“I will.” 

Dolora tried to smile, but she didn’t manage it, and left to make food. I had to leave not long after that to make my own supper, but the whole thing made me feel sick to my stomach. I can’t believe anyone would do that to anyone else. I just can’t believe it. 

 

20 December 1614

I asked Sigmun today why he left the room. 

“She’d just been attacked by her husband and turned down by the doctor! You think she really wanted to see another man?”

“That does make sense.”

“I thought you’d have figured that out.” It wasn’t an attack. 

“You’re my best friend,” I said, shrugging. “I trust you.” 

He looked at me a little funny. “You must trust me a lot.”

“I do.” 

“Well, thanks.”

“You’ve earned it.”

He half-smiled at me. “Nice to know. You know I trust you, right?”

“Of course I do.”

He smiled all the way and then kissed me, lightly. It made me feel very fluttery inside. 

 

23 December 1614

I was thinking about getting married today. I mean, it’s been years since Sigmun and I kissed for the first time. And we’re getting older. Most girls get married before they’re twenty-one, but then, I mostly end up doing things a bit differently on accident. Either way, it would be nice to marry him. I bet he’d be a good husband. I don’t think we’d lose what we have, either. I hope not, anyways. 

Which of course makes me nervous about my wedding night again. It’s something I think about sometimes, I suppose, but never as something actual instead of theoretical. It makes me feel all full of butterflies and that goopy sort of stew from when you add too much flour. Some of the books say it hurts, and that scares me. I don’t want it to hurt. I guess I just don’t want to get hurt with something that’s supposed to be so wonderful. 

 

25 December 1614

We went into town for the village festival today and it was beautiful! There were candles and holly and pine wreaths everywhere. Someone even filled the fountain with pine boughs, so it looked like some fairy had dusted our village with some sort of magic. There was so much snow and ice that even though Mr. Jacobson and Mrs. Topham played their fiddles and someone cleared a space around the fountain for dancing, people were slipping and sliding all over the place. When Sigmun and I were dancing and he spun me around, I slipped on a patch of ice and I almost fell, but he caught me like that time we were skating way back when. If I was the type to swoon, I’m sure I would have. I tie my bodice loose enough to let my breath into my lungs. After we came back from the city and my mother…well, I’ve already written it, why should I write it again? Either way, after that, I don’t ever want to be unable to breathe again. Not to mention the time I almost drowned…

The snow started falling around noon and it dusted Sigmun’s hair with little white flakes, and a few caught in his eyelashes, and he just looked so handsome with that big, goofy grin of his and those eyes that flash red when the light is right. I felt my insides turn to goop again and I can’t believe I ever tolerated living with my mother when I could’ve been feeling things like this without feeling so damn guilty. 

Anyways, we danced and sang the Christmas songs the whole village knows, like “O Holy Night” and “O Come All Ye Faithful” and whenever we sat to rest on one of the benches, the snow would build up on his shoulders and his head until I brushed it off and he blushed. He’s such a blusher. It’s very cute. 

Simonn and Hannah were dancing and Simonn’s siblings were chasing each other around with all the other children. Isabella may be the shortest, but she can run fast. Thomas kept pulling at Simonn’s cloak and asking if he was going to marry Hannah. Whenever he did, Simonn blushed so red I thought he’d faint and said, “Maybe. Go play with your siblings.” It was very sweet. 

I also saw all Hannah’s sisters, each of them with the other girls their age, even Eleanor. Dorothy looked so much better than she did in October, less bruised and sick and more alive-looking. That must feel so nice. I know how it feels to look like a ghost and I wouldn’t wish that upon anyone else, ever. 

Dinner was delicious and beautiful and I was full. I haven’t been full since I can remember. My mother never let me eat enough and since providing for myself, I haven’t been able to afford enough food to be full. But it felt very good, though I felt quite sleepy afterwards. I’m staying over, of course. I’m sitting at the desk in the guest room right now with a candle lit. I think I’ll sleep well tonight. I might not even have any nightmares. 

 

26 December 1614

We gave each other presents today. I gave Sigmun this book on British history, and his eyes lit up at it. I gave Dolora a shawl made of this sheer material I found at the fabric store a few weeks ago, and I gave Simonn a notebook with lines going two ways, for doing calculations, and a pen. Dolora gave me this beautiful dress, almost a ballgown, and I wonder when I’d wear it. But it’s so lovely, and it fits perfectly. I forget sometimes how well Dolora knows me. Sigmun gave me a thin bracelet I think he found at the jewelry store, which I almost can’t believe. It’s beautiful, glinting in the candlelight as I write. Simonn gave us gifts for the first time this year; he gave me a pair of green stockings. 

I could feel the love in the air today. I could almost taste it. I feel like there’s more to giving a gift than buying someone something; it represents thought one put into something and a particular sort of love. Either way, I felt very warm and loved deep in my core. I felt like I had a family. 

 

28 December 1614

Sigmun was sitting on the couch with his head on his knees again today. 

“Another dream?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“What was it about? Or do you not want to say?”

“It was about a Christmas party. There was a big pine tree with these weird colorful candles on it and little toys hanging off it. I had a glass of wine in my hand and you were there and so were Mama and Simonn and Hannah and Rose. We were all giving each other gifts and Hannah and Simonn were married, and you and I were--were dating. That was the word we used. And we had this huge meal, bigger than anything I’ve ever seen outside a book. And we all had these little boxes that communicated somehow? I don’t really remember that part. And you and Hannah and Mama all wore trousers, not skirts. And we all had these impressively ugly sweaters on.”

“That sounds bizarre.”

“It made perfect sense in the dream, but now it’s just odd.”

“I know the feeling. 

He grinned at me weakly and I stood to make him tea again. Poor Sigmun. These dreams sound stressful. 

 

31 December 1614

New Year’s is tomorrow! I’m going to make a list of resolutions this year. I think I can do everything I want to. I certainly hope so!   
1\. Tell Sigmun how I feel about getting married.  
2\. Like the way I look  
3\. Write better  
4\. Meet someone new  
5\. Learn how to love myself the way Dolora says we all should

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to make it completely clear that Dianna has the body type considered attractive for her time period, which means today people would probably call her fat.


	24. Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Big news from Sigmun and surprising news from Hannah.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late again! Homework really piles up with 4 AP and 2 honors classes and I've had so little writing time. 
> 
> That said, I'm a little ahead of schedule now so hopefully I'll have the next one pretty soon.

1 January 1615

Happy New Year’s Day! Today it snowed so much I had to get a shovel to dig out my front door. It was quite a trek to Sigmun and Dolora’s house (no one works until after Epiphany), but it was nice to feel all warm and loved. 

I had one of those moments again yesterday when I was brushing my hair, the ones where I just decide I really like how I look and I like who I am. It’s peculiar, but I actually like myself some days. When I think about how much I wanted to be anyone but myself when I was living with my mother, it’s startling to look at myself and realize that despite everything she told me, I like myself. 

 

3 January 1615

The river was frozen today, so we went skating. The wind was sharp as a knife and the snow was hard to trudge through (Simonn lost one of his shoes and I had to dig it out of the snow), but it was worth it. 

When people get sick in the winter, Dolora always worries that she won’t get there in time, even though she has snowshoes just for that purpose. It’s just so easy to get a little too cold if you don’t have a home on days like today and I worry a lot about people who have nowhere to go. 

 

10 January 1615

There’s a blizzard going on right now. I haven’t been able to leave the house since last night; I can’t even see out the windows (my mother insisted upon glass windows to my father when I was little and now I have glass windows). I’m worried about Simonn and his siblings, and Hannah and her sisters and her grandmother, and all the people in the village who don’t have homes, and of course Sigmun and Dolora. I’m worried. 

 

11 January 1615

I don’t have much food right now, and I hope the blizzard ends soon so I can go hunting again. My stores of dried food will last a long time, but not forever, and I already planned out my rations for the whole winter until April, when I can start gardening and gathering plants from the woods. I hope I can get out soon. 

 

12 January 1615

I had a nightmare last night about being trapped inside with my mother again, like when I was sixteen. I don’t have so many nightmares anymore, hardly ever more than two a night, but they persist. And this was a pretty bad one. 

The blizzard looks like it’s lightening up, and I think I’ll be able to leave my house tomorrow. I hope so, anyways. 

 

13 January 1615

I managed to dig myself out of my house today. I went to work and everyone looked worn down by the storm. Susan especially looked exhausted. Johanna looked a bit angry, and so did Agnes. Pamela was all snappish and irritated, and I think she needs to take some of the medicine Dolora makes for people who get sick from working too hard. 

 

16 January 1615

It would be nice to learn an instrument. I really like the sound of a fiddle and I know Mrs. Knox whose husband runs the dry good store by the fountain has a piano and sometimes gives the children lessons. But I’ve never read a book on how to play an instrument. It’s probably something you need to learn from someone else, and with the actual instrument. I bet it’s about practice, like reading in your head. It took me five years to learn to read in my head. 

 

20 January 1615

Today while I was at Sigmun and Dolora’s, Sigmun burst in, twirled me around off the ground, and then kissed me. He was laughing this huge, genuine laugh I hadn’t heard in much too long. 

“What on Earth is it, my love?” I asked. 

“I got a job!”

“That’s wonderful! Where?”

“John Peters’s farm. I’m just a farmhand. He didn’t even ask about my parents!” 

I grinned and kissed the tip of his nose. “I’m so happy for you! When do you start?”

“Monday. I can’t wait!” He laughed aloud again and hugged me, all warm and excited and sweet. I’m so glad he’s found a job when he’s been looking so long. He deserves to be happy, and I think this will make him very happy. 

 

22 January 1615

It snowed again today while I was at Sigmun and Dolora’s. I have no idea what Sigmun needs to do on a farm in weather like this, but maybe livestock need care or seeds need to be sorted or something like that. 

I need to replace my boots come spring; the snow is making these almost useless. It’s a good thing I have lots of thick wool socks. I remember the one time I wore cotton socks and Dolora made me soak my feet in a tub of hot water because she said I could’ve lost a toe. 

 

25 January 1615

I saw one of those men Mother tried to get me interested in when I was in the market today. He was with Mary from when I was young, I think. I wonder if they’re married or engaged or what. It’s strange how everyone ends up with someone in a village like this. I doubt in only two thousand people, most of them children or married, everyone could find their match. On the other hand, it’s not really about love but more about having children and social status, so I suppose there’s that. 

I think marriage should be about love. I can’t imagine living with someone I don’t love as a spouse for my whole life. 

 

29 January 1615

I keep almost writing the year as 1614! I don’t have any particular desire to go back to 1614 anymore than I’d like to be in 1609 again, but I just got so used to writing 1614. 

Either way, today was one of those days when I felt that wanting more than usual when I kissed him and I feel so ashamed for it, even though most of me tells me not to worry, no one can punish me for what’s in my head. There’s another reason to get married. 

I think about marrying him a lot these days. What would it be like to stand up in front of the church in a blue dress with a bouquet of lavender and swear to spend my life loving him, to hear him promise the same to me? I feel quite shivery inside at the thought. 

 

31 January 1615

I was talking with Hannah today about getting married and she mentioned something a little odd. 

“If you do get married, what will you do if you spoil things?” she asked. 

“I…I don’t know. Try to fix them?”

“I worry,” she confessed. “That I’ll do something if Simonn and I ever get married and ruin it for all of us and maybe our children. I don’t want to ruin my marriage--or not-marriage.”

“You can always fix your mistakes,” I said. “Well, usually.” 

“I suppose,” she said. “But there are so many things he doesn’t know.”

“Like what? I could tell you if he’d care. He probably won’t. He’s head-over-heels for you, Hannah.”

“Just…things,” she said vaguely. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright,” I said, and I changed the subject. I wonder what secrets Hannah keeps; I worry she might be keeping secrets that are hurting her too deeply for anyone to help. But at least talking can alleviate some of the pain; I know that all too well. I hope she can confide in Simonn. He’ll know what to say when it comes to her, and if he doesn’t, one of us will. 

 

2 February 1615

Winter tends to get dreary by February, especially this long and snowy winter. I swear it was colder this year than last. But I think it should be over soon. 

Work was relatively good today. I didn’t get in an argument with Johanna (and I know I should try to get along with her, but…), and Susan said I should come over for tea sometime, and Jane kept bragging about her fiancé, and David was pretty good for David, and even Pamela wasn’t so bad as she sometimes is. 

 

13 March 1615

I can’t believe I forgot to write for a whole month! Longer, even! I’m only writing today because Hannah keeps her secrets and today she finally told us one of them. 

Sigmun and I were reading when Hannah tapped my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my skin. 

“Dianna? Can I talk to you guys?”

“Of course.” 

She took a deep breath, that sort of shaky breath you take when you think you might cry. “You’re going to think I’ve gone mad.”

“No I won’t,” I said. 

“Alright. Well, sometimes, you know I’m Hannah?”

“Yes…” Sigmun said. 

“And I’m a girl?”

“Yes…” (Sigmun again.)

“Well, sometimes…just sometimes, not always, but often enough…I just feel like a boy.” 

There was a long silence, and I just didn’t know what to say, so I said, “Pardon?”

“Sometimes…I feel like I’m a boy.” 

Another pause, much shorter. 

“I know you probably think I’m mad and I should be killed and maybe I should be but I’ve felt like this since I was little and I just don’t know what else to--”

“No, no, I just…I don’t know what to say,” Sigmun said. “I think neither of us do.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“What for?” I blurted

“For not telling you two.”

“It’s alright,” I said, and Sigmun nodded. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” 

“Is there anything I can do?” Sigmun asked. 

“Would it be too much trouble to ask you to call me Andrew sometimes? When there’s no one else around? Because I’m sorry that’s probably ridiculous to ask, and it’d be nice to be he sometimes but that’s--”

“Hannah--Andrew?”

“Hannah.”

“Hannah, calm down. Don’t worry. We can call you Andrew if you want,” I said. Hannah was breathing too fast and shaking and I was worried she might faint. 

“It’s fine,” Sigmun said. “I mean, we all know Mama is just as clever and kind as anyone else.” 

“What does Dolora have to do with this?”

“She loves women.” 

“Oh.” Pause, again. “So…you’re still…my friends?”

“Of course. As long as you’re our friend,” I said. 

“Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome. Uh…how will we know to call you Andrew?” Sigmun asked. 

“I’ll tell you. But you can assume I’m Hannah and she when you’re talking about me, even if…if I tell other people.”

“Sounds like you’ve thought this out,” I commented. 

“I have. I…I kind of planned this out. Except then I forgot it.”

“Hey, it’s okay. You said it all in the end,” Sigmun said. 

“What time is it?”

“What?” I blurted. 

“Uh…six or so. Why?” Sigmun answered. 

“I have to go home to make dinner. I’ll see you tomorrow. Thank you so much!”

“Any time,” I said, waving. 

So there’s Hannah for you. I guess that’s what she meant about things she hadn’t told Simonn. I wonder if she’s (he’s?) told her (his? Their?) sisters yet. 

Hannah did mention to call her she if she hadn’t mentioned being he, so should I keep calling her she in my journal? She did say she’d prefer she when being talked about, so I suppose I’ll stick with she unless I’m told otherwise. 

I hope no one tries to hurt her over this. If they hang women in the city for loving women like Dolora (she never talks about it, but we hear rumours around here), I fear what they might do to Hannah if word ever gets out. I wish I didn’t have to be so afraid for my friends. 

 

16 March 1615

I got in an argument with Johanna today. She told me my buttonholes were too slow, so I told her at least I could sew buttonholes instead of just being able to do hems, which might not have been the kindest thing I’ve ever said, and then it just got worse from there. She and I are just never going to get along, are we? 

 

20 March 1615

I heard a strange conversation between Simonn and Sigmun today.

“Simonn…gosh, just kill me for this…but I need some advice.”

“I’m not going to kill you, but sure, what is it?”

“I…I want to…” I didn’t catch what he said next, because he dropped his voice.

“Took you long enough.”

“Shut up!”

“Look, if you want to, then just ask.”

“No, I can’t, it has to be special.”

“You are so…I don’t know if there’s a word to express it.”

“Thanks.” It was a flat sort of sarcasm.

“If you’re trying to make it all special, try flowers or something, I don’t know. This isn’t exactly my specialty, in case you haven’t noticed.”

“I was just…you two are my best friends, but you’re the only one I can ask about this. It’s kind of a big deal!”

“Alright. You want my advice? Flowers. And if you really can’t force the two necessary words out, try writing it.”

“Thanks.”

“Any time. Now, don’t pull one of your usual stunts where you go all tongue-tied and postpone it for four years.”

“That was just once…”

“Yeah, but…” Then I couldn’t hear Simonn for a little bit. “…You just need to do it, alright?”

“Alright. But I want to…” I didn’t hear that part. “…for months…How do I know if she’ll like it?”

“You could try asking her.”

“I want it to be a surprise!”

“You absolutely hopeless romantic. Just go the jewelry store and ask, ‘Which is your favorite?’ or something.”

“Thanks for your advice. I have to go cook dinner and everything.”

“Any time, Siggy.”

I wonder what that was all about.

 

23 March 1615

Work was horrendous today. It was too hot because someone stoked the fire too high and my hands were so sweaty I kept dropping my needle. And Johanna and I got in an argument again, unfortunately. I know I shouldn’t listen to her, but she is so irritating! At least Jane and Susan are nice. David’s rather an idiot, but he doesn’t bother me much. 

 

26 March 1615

Dolora saw my fingers today, how raw and red they are from pricking myself with the needle, and she gave me this salve that’s supposed to help. I hope I’m not worrying her, because it’s really not that bad. And I mean it this time, not like how it wasn’t that bad when I needed stitches from the cuts my mother gave me. 

Also, Jane was bragging again about that fiancé of hers again. I really couldn’t care less about him at this point. I’m happy for her that she’s getting married, but I wish she’d be a bit quieter during work. 

 

27 March 1615

The salve worked wonders, but it only works as long as it’s on. If it rubs off before a few hours have passed, it stops working. I usually put in on once I get home and before I go to bed. It’s so nice to not feel like my fingers are constantly on fire. 

Today when I was at Sigmun and Dolora’s, I was reading when Simonn jogged in, grabbed his glasses off the table, and ran off again. I suppose he’s not entirely done losing his glasses. 

 

30 March 1615

I keep thinking about maybe marrying him. I mean, I’d like to just ask because it’s been three years since we kissed the first time, but I don’t know if that’s alright. I’ve never even heard of women asking men. I suppose for Dolora and Rose a woman has to ask, but that’s entirely different and anyways, there’s not a priest alive who would marry them, unfortunately.

That’s not my point. I want to ask him, but I don’t know if I can. I mean, I love him. I know that for sure. And though I know most people don’t marry because they’re in love, I can’t imagine marrying anyone else. I certainly can’t imagine having children with anyone else, because I simply don’t trust anyone else as much. Well, there’s Simonn, but that’s an even stranger thought than marrying a stranger.

I’ll think on it more. If I ask, I want to pull something lovely together, a nice dinner or something. I’m not a good planner, but I think I can plan this.

 

2 April 1615

How does one propose to someone? I don’t want to do something like in the romance novels, it’s just too elaborate. And I couldn’t afford it, I know that. So I guess…I could tuck a ring into his favorite book or something like that? Or perhaps I could just write a little note, telling him I want to marry him? I might have to save if I want to buy a ring. I’ll check in the jewelry stores to see how much they cost. Planning to propose to someone is more complicated than I thought it would be. 

 

4 April 1615

I haven’t been sleeping these past few nights. I just can’t sleep. I’ve tried chamomile and I even asked Dolora for some of that herb that makes you really drowsy, but I can’t sleep. I feel all strange and dizzy inside from this lack, but I’m just…I’m scared to sleep. I’m scared to have more nightmares like the one I had two nights ago. (I ripped that page out because I couldn’t stand to look at it.)

Work has been torturous these days because I prick myself with the needle so much more when I’m tired. The salve helps, but it can’t make up for the way my body exacerbates my pain when it hasn’t slept. 

 

5 April 1615

Sigmun and I went to the market today and he looked very, very nervous. I suppose he’s worrying about something and I wish he’d tell me so I can help him. I asked, but that made him even more nervous. Why does he do this? I wish I could remind him that he doesn’t have to carry the world on his shoulders.

At any rate, we walked to one of the stores where they sell jewelry and of course I wanted to stop because I think the jewelry is just gorgeous. I never buy anything, because it’s all far too expensive; I just like looking. That’s enough for me.

“Aren’t these lovely?” I said of a pair of earrings in this shade of aquamarine I just love. I know Sigmun doesn’t quite get it, but he puts up with me and for that I am grateful.

“What d’you think of this?” he asked, pointing at a ring.

“Oh, that one’s beautiful!” (I think most jewelry is beautiful).

“What about that one?”

“It’s pretty too!” I’m not entirely sure why he was doing this.

It kept going like that for a while, then he said, “You go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a second.”

“Alright. I’ll be at the fabric store.” It’s the warmest.

“Right.”

He seemed even more nervous for the rest of the day. When I held his hand, I could feel him shaking like a leaf in a thunderstorm. I wish I knew what that was about.

I’m exhausted. It’s not that late, in fact it can’t be later than nine, but I have not slept for three nights and honestly the whole world’s just been very disorienting today. Everything feels a little bit blurred and distorted. I need to sleep.

 

6 April 1615

Oh my goodness. I know what the whole thing was about yesterday. I know why he was so nervous. I can’t believe I didn’t notice! I must’ve been pretty tired.

I should probably backtrack a little.

Sigmun gave me flowers today, and it was this huge bouquet he’d arranged all nice, but he still held it out like he did so long ago when he first gave me flowers. He had this shy little smile and he said, “Look for the rose.” So I did; I searched the whole bouquet for the one rose. I pulled it out and I was about to ask what the point was when I saw there was a little note tied to it. The note said, “Marry me?” And I lifted my head up to tell him yes and he was on one knee and he had this little ring in a box and he was smiling that sweet little earnest smile he does. So I just blurted, “Yes! Of course!”

He looked so relieved, as if there was some possibility I’d say no. He stood up and slipped the ring onto my finger and I threw my arms around his neck and I kissed him so hard I felt him stumble back a little. I…I can’t believe it! I’m going to be married! To Sigmun! I’m still shaking, even now. I’m just so happy!

 

7 April 1615

I think perhaps work was the best it’s ever been today. 

We were talking about men, which ones are handsome and which ones aren’t (which may sound horrible, but it’s not like they were there to hear it), and Johanna mentioned Sigmun. 

“Have you seen Vantas these days?”

“I have,” Jane said. “He’s much handsomer than he used to be.”

“Oh, definitely. Can’t believe he’s not being courted by half the village.” 

“I know him,” I said. “He won’t be courting anyone.”

“And why do you say that?” Johanna asked, all snappish and suspicious. 

“We’re engaged,” I said, holding up my ring. 

“Oh my goodness, that’s wonderful!” Jane said. Susan smiled and concurred and so did the others, even Pamela. Johanna glared at me. It was very satisfying. 

Of course Dolora knew already, but most of the town didn’t, so today was just a flurry of telling people yes I was engaged, that’s why I had an engagement ring, and it was the Vantas boy with the odd mother on the edge of town (who else would it be), and I wasn’t going to quit work, and could they please let me go run my errands. Damn gossipy town. Everyone’ll know by tomorrow. 

Simonn of course just grinned at me and said, “Congrats, Deedee.”

“Simonn, we’re practically adults.”

“And you’re still Deedee and I’m still Simmie and Sigmun is still Siggy.”

“Fair enough,” I said with a little smile. I still miss being a child sometimes. But there are advantages to being an adult, and getting married is one of them. 

I better find a dress pattern, and some good fabric and thread. I might have to save up for that, but I do want a new dress to wear. 

And I won’t have the same name anymore. I’ll be Dianna Vantas. I won’t have to carry any names I hate anymore. I don’t have to be Sailor like my mother or Leijon like my birth parents, who I do believe don’t love me. I can be Vantas. We don’t really know his family history; we can make our own history. 

With any luck, Dianna Vantas won’t go through so much pain Dianna Leijon. 

 

10 April 1615

I swear the sun has been shining brighter these days. Even though it’s April and it’s fulfilling its role of raining often enough to bother farmers, when the sun does come, it’s brighter and more beautiful than ever. Even the rain is warmer, somehow more cleansing and less relentlessly sad than before. Either that or I’ve lost my mind. But it’s so lovely and I feel like the world is, for once, on my side. 

Sigmun’s all blushy these days when I kiss him and I suppose he thinks about marriage the same way I do, sometimes. But he’s the same as always, sweet as honey and kind and optimistic. I’ve never met anyone with such a positive outlook on what life has to offer. Except perhaps myself as of late. I feel limitless these days. I can’t go to university, true, and I can’t do a whole lot of things for whatever reason. But at the same time, I could do anything I wanted. I could quit my job or I could cut off all my hair or I could jump in the river and swim with the current until I reached the sea. I could do anything. 

I could do anything, but I think of everything I could do, I will stay here with my family. I could do almost anything, then. I couldn’t bear to lose them.

 

12 April 1615

I spent at least half an hour today just staring at my ring. Maybe that’s shallow, but I’m just so happy to be engaged. And it’s this beautiful gem, this tiny little sparkling jewel set in the thin gold band. I can tell it was cheap, and I don’t care; it’s beautiful. There’s not a happier person in the world right now than me. 

 

13 April 1615

I fell asleep with my ring on last night and I woke up this morning feeling very comfortable. I had a few nightmares, but not horrible ones, not like they are sometimes. I’m just so happy, I think it’s counteracting the worst of the nightmares, if that makes any sense. 

Work has been almost unbearable. Engagements are up there with affairs in gossip and Jane’s been comparing Sigmun to her fiancé and Johanna keeps shooting me evil glares and Pamela told me if I slack off because of this I’ll lose my job. She needs to calm down. 

 

15 April 1615

I found a few nice patterns today in my book of patterns for a dress I could sew. It’ll have to be a formal dress, of course. I want to dress up on my wedding day, of course! I’ll find lavender in the forest for a bouquet and I suppose I can buy some sort of material in town for a veil. And I’ll need to find a pair of shoes. I can’t wear work boots on my wedding day. 

My wedding day. I’m going to be married. 

I can’t wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hannah is genderfluid and awesome.


	25. Wedding Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New people arrive and names aren't all they seem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's hella sick and thus hella ahead of schedule! 
> 
> Also hella can't really talk.

3 May 1615

Me and my forgetful mind! I’ve been walking on air since April, but it’s not quite as bad as it was. I think my elation might be slightly disproportionate to the excitement, but I’m just so happy! I remember when I was younger and my mother told me no one wanted an educated woman, and if I wanted to meet a man, learning to read and write wasn’t going to get me anywhere. There is still some satisfaction about proving her wrong. 

 

6 May 1615

Today Sigmun and I went to the market together alone and we had to split up. I never go to the market alone anymore if I can help it because of the men there. I’ve long since gotten used to it, or at least I don’t feel so terrified anymore, but today a particularly persistent man tried and he must’ve been drunk because this is what happened.

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

“Go away.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t you want some?” He put one arm around my shoulders and I couldn’t wriggle away.

“No. Leave me alone.” I tried escaping again, but he squeezed tighter and moved one hand to my chest.

“Sweetheart, we both know you just need a man like me to make you feel all better.”

I wasn’t sure if he would go away or not, so I wrenched one hand away from him and pulled my butcher’s knife out of my shopping basket where I keep it, just enough so he could see it but no one else could.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Get away from me.”

“Sweetheart, you really sure you know how to use that?”

“Oh, believe me, I do.”

Just then, Sigmun turned the corner and I caught his disturbed face at me and this man much taller than I was.

“I’ll say it one more time. Go away.”

He growled at me and slunk off.

“What happened?” Sigmun asked, walking over to join me as I tucked the knife under my package of flour. 

“Oh, he just tried to flirt with me. He put his arm around me and touched my chest and all that. The usual.”

“The usual?!”

“Mm-hmm. It happens every time I go to the market alone.”

“But…when you got attacked…wasn’t that the only time?” 

“The only time I was attacked. This sort of thing happens all the time, whenever I’m alone.”

“Then why do you still go to the market alone?”

“I don’t! I go with you or Simonn or Dolora.”

“You shouldn’t have to do that! You should be able to go to the market and run some errands without worrying that a drunk is going to molest you!”

“Love, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing, Dianna! It’s everything that you don’t feel like you can go to the market alone without getting jumped on by someone who’s going to violate you like that! It’s not right!”

“Sigmun, it’s been happening since I was sixteen. I’m used to it.”

“No one should ever be used to something like this, I mean it! Something has to be done about it!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. But there has to be something we can do.”

“If I come up with something, you’ll be the first to know,” I said dryly. I hate the way things are, but what can one girl with passing skills in hunting and writing do? I don’t know why Sigmun’s so set on changing things. He’s been like that since we were little and much as I’d love to believe that things can change, I do think there’s a good deal of work to be done if anything is to change. 

 

7 May 1615

Someone came by today to my house from the local bank. I didn’t know banks could take houses. I don’t know what a bank would want with a house. But since Father still owns the house, technically, they’re going to take it and sell it to someone in a year, apparently when they can spare someone to “appraise” it. Why a year, I do not know. But that’s going to ruin all the planning we did back in April about where we’d live. Sigmun and I can’t afford a new house; we were planning to live in this house. What are we going to do?

 

10 May 1615

I don’t want to tell Sigmun about the house. Everything was going to work out so nicely! Simonn has his childhood home and Dolora has her home and Sigmun and I were going to live here and it was all going to work out fine! Why didn’t Father go to the trouble to just put the house in the family name like every other sane person? Maybe he knew I’d lose the house and then I’d have no choice but to get married. (I bet anything he was on Mother’s side of that particular debate.) Which would be excellent if I wasn’t planning to move here with my husband! There must be some way out of this.

Oh, and I got a letter today from Neolla. She’s moving back to town soon from Yangsley’s. I can’t wait to see her again.

 

14 May 1615

I told him about the house today. I don’t know why I was so worried; I mean, he’s always been kind and reasonable. I suppose I’m just so worried about losing the house that I projected it onto worry about losing him.

“Sigmun.”

“Yes?”

“You remember how we were going to live in my mother’s old house?”

“Yes…” He looked a little worried, giving me that sideways glance he does when he tilts his head just enough to be noticeable and his eyes narrow just a touch. 

“Well…a man from the bank came by the other day. Unless I can pull together the money, they’re going to take the house.” 

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” 

“Well, I’ll help.”

“Help what?”

“Help you pull together the money. I have a job now, remember.” 

“I know. But it’s my house, not yours. You shouldn’t have to worry about this.”

“We’ll be living there together when we get married! I think I’m just as part of this as you are. And I’ll always help you with whatever you need, you know that.”

“I do. But this is still my house, are you sure you want to help?”

“Positive. I’ll tell you my wages and you can calculate how much we’ll need to add to that.”

“Are you really sure?”’

“Of course I am. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

That’s such a weight off my shoulders now. I think we might be able to manage with two people’s pay for a year. I hope so, at any rate. Much as I despise the memories I store here, I don’t want to lose this house. For all my mother destroyed me from the inside out, this is my childhood home in some ways. 

I wonder if my children will love this house properly. 

 

16 May 1615

I did the calculations yesterday. We’ll have enough, but just barely. That’s alright, though. I’m going to be married! To Sigmun! It doesn’t matter how much money we have as long as we’re together. And I know that sounds silly, but it’s true. We could have no home at all and I’d be glad if we were together.

 

21 May 1615

Today I was planning on running some errands, so I asked Sigmun if he’d come with me.

“Sure. But I won’t be much protection.”

“I can protect myself.”

“You said they don’t harass you if you’re not alone.”

“Alright, it is nice.”

“But…look. The other day, I was food shopping and they threatened to kill me again.”

“Again?!”

“It happens all the time. I get a lot of threats.”

“Why?”

“I could list a lot of reasons, but being illegitimate tops it. Then being poor, short, the fact that I live in the woods in the mysterious house with my mother, the strange apothecary whose cures work better than most doctors’. And that I don’t really like spending time in the pub, mostly because that’s where I run into people who would carry out their threats, and that I have you…” He sighed and shook his head as if to clear it.

“I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s not your fault, don’t worry about it.”

“You said part of it is that you have me.”

“It’s just because I bother with love. They say I’m a sissy, a stupid girl, stuff like that. I…never mind. Believe me, I’d rather have you and put up with it. Anyways, I don’t mind being called a girl. It doesn’t even make sense.”

“Darling, you don’t have to be with me. If it’d be better for you, I could just stop—”

“Are you serious?”

“Completely.”

“That’s ridiculous. It’s the same for me as you; I just don’t go places alone.”

“Then I guess if we go run errands together, we’ll be alright.” I tried for a smile, but it was weak.

“Well, I know you can protect me, certainly. You proved that three years ago.”

“You remember that?”

“Of course I do. You scared away eight men with a knife, then helped carry me home, then you kept me awake while Mama patched me up, then I told you that you were beautiful and you told me I was delusional.”

“You were.”

“I was, but not about that. Anyways, I bet I’ll be alright if I’m with you.”

“And I’ll be alright if I’m with you.” He kissed me and smiled.

“Come on, let’s go. Errands to run, people to see, things to do.”

I wish he wouldn’t try to be so invulnerable like that; it worries me. I could tell he’s afraid, and who wouldn’t be? Getting death threats must be terrifying. I can’t decide which is worse: being threatened first, or being surprised.

I wish I didn’t have to.

 

2 June 1615

Neolla’s going to be coming home in a few days. She sent word ahead that school ends on the first of June, graduation is the fourth, and she’ll be home by the sixth. I can’t wait to see her again! Mariek even seemed happy, under her layers of invulnerability. I wonder what she’ll do once she’s home again. I wonder if back here is still her home. 

I forgot to factor in buying fabric when I figured how much I’d need for the house. I’ll have to go back and do all that over again, never mind how stressed the whole debacle makes me. I don’t like being an adult at times like these. I don’t even feel like an adult. I still feel like the child who wrote overdone love letters to Sigmun, who giggled when she had her first kiss, who never had a thought about money or work or property or (and I still can’t believe how close I might be) children. How am I nineteen years old? How am I an adult?

 

3 June 1615

I figured in fabric and we’ll barely squeak by with that counted in. It’s a relief, but still I worry something might happen at the last moment to change it. I just hope we don’t end up with nothing, after all this stress and all this worry. 

 

6 June 1615

Neolla came home today! She was still dressed up as a man and she told us that she couldn’t risk being seen as herself in public anymore if she was going to be setting up a practice. She’s just going to go for it, basically, because we do need a lawyer around here. Our most “respectable” resident is probably the minister, by traditional standards of respectability. 

She and Mariek were over this afternoon, and so were Simonn and Andrew, and they didn’t stay for supper, but Dolora made us all tea and there was something very comforting about being home with all my friends and my family. I’ll miss this home when I live at my house with Sigmun. But I do think we can make my house feel like home. Not being alone all the time will be a good start. 

 

15 June 1615

I feel bad I’ve been so inconsistent with my writing, but it’s not as if I’m hurting anyone but myself by not parsing apart my feelings on paper. 

It absolutely terrifies me that someday, when I’m long gone, someone could find this journal and read it. It makes me feel rather sick, in fact. I mean, I’m not sure I’d even let Sigmun or Simonn or Dolora read this, and I’d trust them with my life. On the other hand, I’d just die of humiliation if Sigmun ever read half of the things I’ve written about him here. And Dolora might as well be my mother! And I’m sure Simonn would never stop teasing me. 

I’m writing today only because work was very stressful and writing always makes me feel better. Johanna’s just so irritating and Pamela was bothering me because I misaligned one button and Jane simply wouldn’t shut up and I’m actually a little worried about Susan because she just sits there, quiet as a mouse, and she’s been talking even less recently. And David! He used to flirt with Johanna and sometimes Jane and they mostly brush him off, but today he sat next to me where Susan usually sits and he sat far too close and asked me if I’d go for a drink with him. 

“No thanks.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want to go for a drink with you.”

“Come on, don’t you think I’m handsome?”

“I don’t drink.”

“You’re such a prude.”

“I don’t want to go for a drink with you! I don’t drink, and I’m engaged!”

“Fine, jeez,” he muttered darkly, slinking off to sit on his usual bench. Susan sat next to me then, which was kind of her. 

 

18 June 1615

Today was Simonn’s birthday. He was working, of course, but he came by when it was late and almost dark out (I stayed the night last night). He looked so tired from work and everything (he only gets Sundays off in the summer), but Dolora insisted he stay for tea before going home. She also made him baked apples (I was doing accounting for the house, figuring in that some of the fabric are more expensive now and I plan on helping pay for Christmas this year) and I gave him a case for his eyeglasses. Simonn got him this thing he found in the market called a Newton’s cradle. It’s something to do with conservation of energy, but it made Simonn happy. And Simonn just stayed for apples and tea and then he left with this big, goofy smile on his face. It’s so nice seeing Simonn happy, especially when he’s so worried. 

 

25 June 1615

Sigmun got me flowers today and I wasn’t really expecting it, so I asked him why. 

“Because it’s a nice thing to do?”

“Well, I suppose, but…”

“I just wanted to get you flowers. And I thought these were pretty. Almost as pretty as you are.”

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

He grinned. “It’s true.” 

“Thank you very much, love.”

“You’re welcome, darling.” 

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

The flowers really are beautiful in my drab house. Since I sold all the heirlooms and there aren’t any books to liven up the place, especially with my mother’s room the way it is now, the house has been feeling rather dull. The flowers are a really lovely touch. 

 

3 July 1615

There was a new girl at work today. She was a bit tall, and she had this lovely dark hair all the way down to her waist. Her name’s Henrietta Topham, but she said she preferred Etta. The name suits her, I think. She’s doing dresses. Apparently two other workers left about a year ago and they’ve been looking for someone to do the buttonholes and the dresses since. (All the others have their own specialties. Johanna does linens, so she only really does hems.)

She sat next to me while we worked and she seemed very kind, and certainly very clever. She’s clearly read about literature, and I think history and natural science too. I ought to invite her over sometime, though I suppose to Sigmun and Dolora’s instead of my oddly cold and depressingly empty house. She’s new to our village and newcomers don’t always feel like they fit in here, from what I’ve heard, so I’d like to at least try to be her friend. 

 

11 July 1615

Wedding plans. The simple fact that I have to make wedding plans makes me a little giddy. I found a dress pattern today that I like and I think I might add some embroidery and a few embellishments (it’s my wedding dress!). I think the blue fabric they sell in town, the light cotton with the matching thread, would be the best. It would most certainly be the prettiest! But I think I’ll talk to Dolora. I trust she’ll know a bit more about different fabrics than I do. 

It seems to me that it might take a while to get the minister to marry us. Of course, we could just do a handfasting and that’s the legal issue taken care of, but everyone gets married at church and I think I’d rather do that. I may not be all the religious, but I want to be married in the church. I also don’t entirely believe that people would trust we were married and they might treat our children poorly, the way they sometimes treat Sigmun. I wish I didn’t have to worry about that, but I know I do. 

 

14 July 1615

Today was Sigmun’s birthday. It’s so strange that we’re all turning twenty. (Except Dolora’s turning thirty-five.) It’s just so strange. 

Simonn couldn’t come, but Hannah popped by for a few minutes. Dolora made a nice supper and I gave him a book of poetry he’s actually never read (not yet anyways). Dolora even made cookies, and they were delicious. 

It’s strange how much older he looks. I remember being fifteen and how we all still had round cheeks and big eyes and proportions like someone measured once and cut twice (the second time to fix mistakes). Now we all look like adults. Sigmun’s taller, to be certain, and though he’s not shaped at all like I am (out of the context of our respective sexes, I suppose), he’s certainly not skinny like Simonn. And there’s something in his face that looks much older, besides having somewhat of a beard. It’s the same with Simonn. He was skinny enough, but now his cheekbones are sharper than ever and his face makes him look like an adult. I even noticed myself in the mirror, and my face isn’t as round as it was, and my arms and fingers are longer than they ever were when I was a child. It’s strange. 

Dolora looks mostly the same, except with I think a few more wrinkles. But then, something about Dolora strikes me as timeless, ageless almost. I think if she were born when Rome was young or if she was born two thousand years in the future, she’d be just the same as she is today. 

 

18 July 1615

Sigmun asked such a strange question today while we were sitting by the river.

“How come it’s Leijon?”

“How come what is Leijon?”

“Well, you’re Leijon, not Sailor. Why isn’t it Sailor?”

“I changed it when I was eight.”

“Why? I don’t mean to intrude, but I’m curious.”

I sighed and looked up at the sky. I don’t like thinking about my name.

“I changed it the first night she got drunk.”

He didn’t say anything.

“She got drunk and she hit me and said I was the worst daughter anyone ever had the misfortune to raise and then she hit me again and I was just seven, you can imagine how scared I was. And I don’t know, I just didn’t want to be Dianna Sailor anymore and I already knew that I wasn’t related to her by blood, I knew that my whole life…So I just decided I wasn’t going to be Dianna Sailor, like my father who left us behind, I was going to be Dianna Leijon, like the lady in the castle…I felt powerful, carrying a royal name against my mother. Even back then, I knew it was me against her…It doesn’t even make sense now. But I said it different, even way back then, before I knew about everything that goes on it that castle. You know, I like Vantas better.”

“You’d be the first.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, it’s Vantas, like my birth mother. Not Maryam, like Mama.”

“You could change it.”

“Not really. I know it doesn’t make any sense, there’s just something about Vantas that sounds right, even though I don’t like it. I wouldn’t feel like myself with a different name.”

“Alright.”

“I always wondered why Mama never changed her name after everything with her family.”

“Probably the same reason you didn’t change yours and I did change mine.”

“Probably.”

How strange names are.

 

23 July 1615

Etta came by Dolora and Sigmun’s with me after work today. Dolora made tea, of course, and Sigmun was quite chatty like he can be, and Etta was impressed by the books. She likes to read, apparently, and her mother taught her, but she said she doesn’t get much of a chance anymore because of work and supporting herself. Dolora said she could borrow some, as long as she was careful with them. 

It was a nice visit and I stayed with Sigmun and Dolora for dinner. Sigmun and I talked about when we’d get married and I said I’d like to be sure I can keep my house first. So we decided on early June. It’s a long time, but I think security is important. Anyways, most men don’t marry until they’re at least twenty-one. Waiting a few more months won’t do any harm. 

 

31 July 1615

I was thinking today about children. It’s unavoidable to have children once you’re married, of course, but it worries me still. How can I raise a child? I trust that I know how not to raise a child, but I’m not like Dolora. I don’t know how to raise a child! Will I send them to school? Would Sigmun or I stay home after the baby’s been weaned? Or would Dolora? What about when they get older and want to get jobs, or get married, or have children of their own? What if the baby gets sick? I know how likely it is that they would die and that’s absolutely terrifying. I don’t want my baby to die. I’m so scared sometimes of having children, because I know it’s dangerous. But at the same time, I want children so much. Does that make any sense? 

Either way, I know I’ll love my children. I won’t let them grow up feeling so unloved like I was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't want to beg for comments, but I really want to know how I'm doing! Any feedback is appreciated, constructive critcism especially.


	26. Of New and Old

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pasts come back to haunt their presents and the present decides not to totally suck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, I am so sorry for the long update! Because I have poor decision-making skills, this is not my NaNoWriMo project and between that and school, I've been horrible about writing
> 
> (The working title of the chapter was Chapter 26 Which WAS NOT ON TIME YOU USELESS WRITER WITH TOO MANY COMMITTMENTS)

4 August 1615

Etta and I were sewing and chatting today (it is indescribably wonderful to have a proper friend at work) and she mentioned her mother and how her father worked the farm but her mother was sickly. 

“Ever since she gave birth to my brother. He’s taking care of the farm with my father. But since they have to help my mother do the housework, I got sent out to find work. And a husband.” 

“Think you’ll find someone here?”

She shook her head. 

“Why not?” 

“The same reason I couldn’t find anyone at home.” She spread her arms, I guess to indicate her dark skin, the same way Simonn spreads his arms to indicate the whole problem caused when his family lost their farm. 

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I can support myself. You’re getting married, aren’t you?” I got the feeling it wasn’t something she liked to talk about. 

“I am. Doesn’t mean I’m quitting my job.”

“Why not? It’s not exactly the most fun thing you’ll ever do.”

“My fiancé had a lot of trouble finding a job and--well, I worry he’ll lose it and won’t be able to find another.” 

“Why did he have trouble finding a job?”

“Illegitimate,” I tossed off. “But he’s such a sweetheart.”

“No need to defend him to me,” Etta said. “He seemed kind when I met him.”

“Wish it was that easy all the time,” I said. “You know?”

“Believe me, I do. If people could get jobs based on knowledge and talent, my family wouldn’t be like we are. And maybe there’d be some more doctors and the sort around to help people.” 

“I’d say you got this job for your talent. I’d give an arm and a leg to be able to sew like that.” 

“Thanks, but you know they were just desperate.”

“You still deserve it.” 

She smiled this very tired sort of half-smile and said, “I just hope it’s not all for nothing. My family needs help.”

“All the best to them.”

“Thanks, you too. Hey, what about your parents?”

“What do you mean?” I asked carefully. 

“Well, I met Miss Maryam, but she’s your fiancé’s mother, right?” Most people in the village call Dolora Miss Maryam. I guess it’s some sort of grudging respect. 

“She is.”

“So what about your family?”

“No siblings. My mother…was not a kind person. She drank, sometimes. We…we didn’t get along. My father was a trader, so he wasn’t home much. I haven’t spoken with either of them since my eighteenth birthday.” I felt keenly her hands around my neck, like she might be right next to me, pinning me to the wall while I try my hardest to scream. 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s no loss. Dolora’s taken care of me since I was little. She’s good about things like that.”

Etta nodded and she opened her mouth to say something before Pamela snapped, “Get to work, Topham and Leijon!”

I rolled my eyes and quickened my pace, because I hadn’t stopped working, and Etta grinned at me and worked quicker on the dress she was making. I wonder who taught her to sew; they certainly knew what they were doing. 

I hope Etta finds what she’s looking for here. I doubt she wants to find a husband, not really, sort of how Sigmun and I ended up together without either of us planning on getting married. I guess I never really thought I’d not get married, but I never planned my life around getting married. I think Etta’s much the same. Maybe that’s why we get along so well. 

 

17 August 1615

It was so hot today that people were getting sick from it. I was at Dolora’s and two people rushed in with this little child, the Robertson’s child, who had fainted. Dolora got some water and had the child drink some and then she had me take them down to the river to keep the child cool, because it’s always cool by the river. She ran a bit after me and had the parents and she obviously didn’t put the child in the water, but she had the parents sit there with the child and once they were awake, have her sit with her feet in the water, and possibly sit in the river if she could stand it. She had me stay behind with the family while she went back to the house to get some tea. 

The child was acting a little odd, but I got her in the water and she started to perk up until she could drink the water I handed her. (Dolora has sick people drink boiled water because apparently people can get sick from bad water.) I know Dolora usually uses Sigmun and Simonn and I to help when things like this happen, but I’ve never really thought about how we might actually saving people. 

Anyways, Dolora showed up with tea and gave some to the parents and herself, but not for the child because she was still too warm, and then once the child was able to stand again Dolora sent them home and said to keep her inside away from the fire for at least a week, and drink lots of water. 

It’s so strange to me that Dolora just trusts us to do the right thing. She gives us these instructions and then rushes off to do whatever she has to do to help the sick person and she trusts that we’ll do it. I find myself untrusted quite often, whether by Pamela or by the law (to control my own property and all that), and it’s nice that Dolora trusts me. 

 

22 August 1615

Today was my twentieth birthday. How strange that I’m twenty years old, engaged, living alone, and employed, and yet I still feel like a child most of the time. I feel like this is some big joke, and someone will pull back the curtain and say, “Surprise! You’re still fifteen and living with your mother and a child!” Maybe that’s odd, but I just don’t feel like an adult. 

 

28 August 1615

Today Simonn didn’t have work for some unknown reason, so we all sat around the library with a book like we used to do and read. But then Simonn mentioned being an adult and I asked, “Do you feel like an adult?”

He laughed. “No. Why, do you?”

“No!” 

We both turned to Sigmun, who shook his head. “I don’t think anyone really feels like an adult,” he said. “If you think about it. I mean, no one realizes they’re so sad or so burdened or so--what’s the opposite of innocent? And you’d never realize you’re more than the sum.” 

“How can you not know you’re sad?” Simonn asked. 

“Well, I was sad, when I lived with my mother. But I didn’t think about it all that much. Didn’t even realize I was sad until I wasn’t anymore,” I said. 

“Fair enough. But you’ve gotten happier, which seems to be the opposite of being an adult,” Simonn pointed out. 

“I don’t know. Maybe no one’s ever really an adult, they just act like it,” Sigmun said. 

“Or maybe no one ever really feels like an adult,” I said. “I mean, here we are, twenty years old and discussing whether or not we’re adults. Half the women my age in the village have children.” 

“There’s food for thought,” Simonn said with that pointed look he does whenever someone brings up having children with Sigmun and I around. I glared at him. 

“I wonder,” Sigmun began, “if it’s really worth it to pretend you know what you’re doing.”

“I doubt it’s worth it, but it’s probably necessary,” Simonn said. And he’d know; he was an adult longer than anyone else I know. 

“Unfortunately,” I added. 

Sigmun sighed and leaned his head against the couch and I reached out my hand to play with his hair because he has very soft hair. Simonn almost snorted, but I glared at him again. It’s nice to sit like that, all sprawled on the couch like there’s nothing I have to worry about, and I think playing with Sigmun’s hair is in the realm of things fiancées are allowed to do. 

Either way, an afternoon of rest was refreshing and I wish there could be more afternoons like that. 

 

2 September 1615

I’ve probably never really mentioned that since Simonn’s not over all that often, what with his job and all, most afternoons Sigmun and I sit on the couch and read together and it’s quite nice. He’s very good at cuddling, and kissing too. (He didn’t used to be, but I think I might not tell him that.) And he’s very cuddly. There’s something very comforting about being all curled up on the couch with a book and my fiancé and a crackling fire and knowing I don’t have to worry about the rest of the things I normally worry about for a little while. 

Today was a good day, too. Work wasn’t too bad and Rose sent Dolora a new book she bought in the market in the city and Sigmun and I read the new book together. I’ve been feeling alright about things in general lately. I never really expected that to happen. 

 

14 September 1615

Neolla started her practice for real today, after preparing the whole summer. She found a little building in the market next to the baker’s and set everything up (with Mariek’s help, of course) and today she started working for real. I hope things go well for her! We do need someone to take care of legal issues around here. Most often people have to travel to the city if they need a lawyer. I could use a lawyer to take care of the house, if only I had the money. 

 

1 October 1615

Etta got a letter yesterday from her family and apparently her mother’s health has gotten somewhat better in the past few weeks and the physician said it might stick this time. 

“That’s so great!”

She nodded. “It is. I just hope it does stick this time. Dr. Goldberg says that every time.”

“Oh.”

She shrugged again. “My mother’s strong. She survived giving birth twice and miscarrying once.” 

“Well, I hope she’s feeling better.”

“Me too.” 

And then we sewed in silence for a while and I just hope Etta’s mother is alright. 

 

10 October 1615

I’m going to have to take my winter quilt out soon. It’s been getting cold at night and it doesn’t help the nightmares to wake up chilled to the bone. I think it would be nice to sleep with someone else (Sigmun) and feel all warm and cuddly when I wake up. It might cut down on the nightmares. 

Work was alright today. Etta and I talked some about philosophy, because it turns out her family had three philosophy books plus the Bible and she read them over and over. She’s got really interesting ideas about Aristotle and Socrates I would’ve never thought of. Etta’s a great friend. I hope she stays here for a while. 

 

31 October 1615

All Hallows’ Eve today! It was lovely like usual and dancing with Sigmun makes me feel so light and bubbly inside. I love wearing my nice dress and doing up my hair and when I look in the mirror these days, I like myself. I like my mind and my face and the rest of me. And maybe it’s shallow, but I like the way he looks at me. It makes me feel all blushy and beautiful. I never thought I could feel beautiful. 

The dancing is always fun and lively and exciting, and this time was no different. I danced with Sigmun and Simonn a little, too, and Sigmun danced with Hannah a little. Etta was there and we chatted (Sigmun too) for a while. Dolora made a delicious supper and I’m going to stay in the guest room because I don’t like walking home in the dark. I wish I could sleep like when we were in the city and I curled up with him and rested my head on his chest. His heartbeat was so comforting. It’s comforting to know there’s someone else with me, that I’m not alone. 

But that doesn’t matter. I’ll sleep in the guest room and probably not wake up screaming. 

 

1 November 1615

Today was All Saint’s Day and it was wonderful. I’m exhausted and I think this is the first time I’ve been so happily tired that I can’t write much. It always used to be that I was so tired of being hurt that I wrote even if I was tired. But I just don’t feel like I have to write so much anymore, because there’s not so much squished into my heart. I feel so good. 

Anyways, we danced and chatted and had sweets and Sigmun did that adorable thing he does when he takes my hand and kisses it and says, “May I have this dance?” with this silly accent like the nobles in the city. It’s really very sweet. And I laughed and said, “Of course, my good sir,” and pulled him close to me for a dance. 

I’m so tired and I think I might collapse. It’s high time I went to bed, in my own house. 

 

14 November 1615

Sigmun and I sat together today on the couch and we talked idly for a long time and I love him so much. I just…I love them all, so much. I can’t stand it sometimes; it’s just too much for me to keep inside. I wonder if they feel the same way about me. 

I hate to say it, but I worry Sigmun might not keep his job once his boss discovers his parentage. I only have my job because I can claim a father and a mother, and I can sew halfway decent buttonholes. How much harder it is for him to have a job! I hope Mr. Peters isn’t like that, but most everyone is and so I worry. 

 

20 November 1615

Today I went to Sigmun and Dolora’s house and Sigmun was sitting on the couch the way he does after he’s had a nightmare, curled up small and hiding. 

“Sigmun? You alright?”

He shrugged. “Not really.”

“What happened? Did you have a weird dream again?”

“No. Well, yes, I always have them--”

“What?”

“I always have the weird dreams, they just…they’re not always different. They end up being the same as the ones from the night before. And I don’t remember most of them. But that’s not it.” 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really, but you should know…I lost my job.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

He shrugged again. “It’s nothing. Yesterday he asked about my parents, I told him about Mama and he asked about my father, I said I didn’t know him, and today he told me he didn’t need me anymore and I didn’t need to come back.” 

I hugged him, except he was all curled up and so it didn’t really work out. 

“You remember when you said it would be easier to hug me if I hugged back?”

“I do.”

“The same principle applies here.” 

That got me a little laugh and he uncurled himself, so I hugged him close. I feel so sorry for him! It’s so stupid that he could lose his job for not having a father. I’d suggest lying and saying his father died when he was infant if he wasn’t so dead honest and bad at lying. 

“You can find a new job,” I said. “They always need help in town and on the farms.” 

“I guess.” 

“You will. I promise.” 

One more shrug. “Suppose so. I’m so sorry.”

“For what?” 

“About the house. I lost my wages.”

“It’s fine. I’ll come up with something. I told you, it’s my house and I can pay for it.” 

“I’m still going to help! I’ll do what I can. You have my word on that.”

“Thank you, my love. But I’m fine.”

“I love you,” he said, and he looked so tired. I wanted to make him tea and make him go to bed and rest there until he felt better. I wonder if that’s part of love. 

 

29 November 1615

First Sunday of Advent: hope. It’s definitely not the most hopeful time ever right now, what with Sigmun’s job search and Simonn’s poor wages and Etta’s mother getting worse. But I lit the candle anyways, a purple one, and I watched it burn while I ate dinner. There’s something very curious about watching a candle burn down. I don’t know what it is, but I quite like it. 

 

6 December 1615

Today was the second Sunday, peace. I ate dinner with Sigmun and Dolora, but I lit my second purple candle and watched it burn for a little while. I’m glad we have a candle-maker in the village. Maybe it’s silly, but I like having colorful candles for Advent. 

We’ve been busy at work because everyone’s buying presents for their friends and family. I’ll have to tackle that soon. I have no idea what I’ll do for them. Etta’s going to send some of the nicer fabric and thread to her family and maybe add in a couple pamphlets the city people hand out here sometimes. (Her village is too far from the city to get many city visitors.) I wish I knew what to get my family this year. 

 

13 December 1615

Today I lit the pink candle, which is for joy. “Joy” might be a stretch, but I’m certainly not miserable. Besides all this reflecting on peace and hope and how I’m not the useless waste of a person my mother made me feel I was, I feel secure in things right now. Things can and will go wrong, but I feel like I can handle it now. 

Mariek and Neolla were in the village together today like they are and there are rumors going around that Mariek’s finally found a nice boy (that nice new Nelson Reglare fellow, you know the one…) and it’s actually hilarious because Mariek and Neolla have known each other for so long they might as well be married. 

 

16 December 1615

Candas and Orvill and Grantt were in town today and I had a conversation with Grantt, which in and of itself is strange because he’s never talked before as far as I can remember. Other than that, it was a strange conversation. 

I was in the park with all my friends and he walked up to me and said, “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back. His voice wasn’t quite as deep as I thought it’d be. 

“I’m Grantt.”

“Yes, I know. I’m Dianna.”

“Hi.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m Grantt.” He had this look of total panic on his face. 

“Yes, you are. Are you feeling alright?”

“…Hi,” he stammered. 

“I think we should to go see Dolora,” I said, and I was about to go get her, because I thought he had a fever, when he shook his head and rejoined the others. 

I asked Sigmun and Simonn about it later, and Sigmun got very grumpy like he does sometimes. 

“What?” I asked. “I was just wondering if he was sick or something.”

“He asked me earlier today how to talk to a girl you like, and I told him say hi and introduce yourself.”

I almost laughed aloud because of all things! But Sigmun was still grumping, so I kissed his cheek and said, “It’s not like you have any competition, my love.”

Simonn rolled his eyes and added, “If we’re done with the sappy romance, could we possibly read something? I haven’t read for months.”

So we read something from Principia, and even though I was tired, I didn’t fall asleep. 

 

20 December 1615

Fourth Sunday today, love. That’s the last purple candle, I’m sure. I’m also sure that I’ve never felt more loved than I do these days. I feel like maybe I’m worth loving. I’m not totally useless, and I think I have something to offer to my family, though heaven only knows why they loved me in the first place. I’m just glad I have them. 

It’s a wonderful feeling, being loved. It’s not the same when Dolora helps me brush my hair as when Sigmun kisses me as when Simonn gives me one of those long hugs he pretends he doesn’t like, but it is still the feeling of being loved and I’m so glad that after everything with my mother, I’m not entirely unloveable. 

 

25 December 1615

It was a lovely Christmas festival this year. Dolora made us dinner, of course, and we all went to Sigmun and Dolora’s to celebrate when it was late. My legs are sore from dancing and my hands from clapping, because Mr. Jacobson and Mrs. Topham played some of the lively tunes the children dance to while the others stay out and watch. It’s adorable. 

I did finish my Christmas shopping in time. I bought Dolora a book on medicine I found in the back of a little shop in the square, Sigmun a deck of cards and little volume on how to play games, and Simonn a set of magnets. They talk about magnets in the physics books and I thought he’d like them. Sigmun gave me a book of poetry, Dolora gave me a new cloak with her embroidery around the edges (Dolora’s embroidery is very distinctive), and Simonn gave me a new pen. (I very much need one.) 

If everything goes well, we’re going to be getting married in less than six months. I can’t believe it. If it’s half as wonderful as these holidays in the village, dancing and laughing and just having time with all my friends, I will be overjoyed. I’ll have to start on this dress soon, to make sure it’s done in time. I just hope everything goes well. 

 

31 December 1615

Happy New Year’s Eve! I’m going to try to stay up until midnight this year the way some people do in town, to greet this new year happily. I still feel relief some mornings when I wake up without such a weight on my chest, without dreading the day in front of me. 

And I did my hair up today for no real reason and I looked at myself in the mirror and I think I love myself, too.


	27. Thief in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thieves, both small and large, start stealing away what counts.

1 January 1616

Happy New Year! I can’t believe it’s 1616. I feel like just yesterday it was 1613! It’s amazing how quick time passes sometimes. Time at work passes extraordinarily slow, especially if Etta’s not there, but overall time seems to be passing faster than it did when I was a child. I wonder why. 

 

10 January 1616

There haven’t been any major blizzards yet this year, but I’m not exactly holding my breath that there won’t be. I find it hard to believe what they say about places like where Dolora gets her medical books (I’ve never seen the name written), that they’re full of sand and the sun is most always shining and it doesn’t snow. I mean, this is a big world and I’m sure not everywhere it like this drab country with it persistent precipitation, but it seems incredible that anywhere could have no snow or so much sun. 

I wonder what it’s like across the ocean. Obviously I don’t know anyone who’s ever been, but I’m curious. 

 

24 January 1616

I hate going to the market alone. I hate it. I had to today because Simonn was at work and Dolora was searching for some winter herbs and Sigmun was looking for a job, and I wish I didn’t have to go alone. I’m not even in the mood to write right now. 

I should probably make dinner. At least it’ll be a distraction. 

 

3 February 1616

Sigmun was all happy and energetic today and I asked him why. 

“I got a job!”

“That’s great! Where?”

“The shoemaker’s. He needed someone to help out.”

I hugged him, even though I have to stand on tiptoe, and he hugged me right back. 

“You can count my wages back into the house money.”

“I’ve told you not to worry about it!”

“But I’m going to help anyways,” he said with one his silly grins. “Always at your service, my love.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“That’s why you love me.” 

I rolled my eyes at him, but I really didn’t mean it and we read until it was almost dark out. 

 

15 February 1616

Etta came by for tea again today and she met Simonn and Hannah. Simonn was happy to meet someone else who liked philosophy, but Hannah was quite shy the way she is around new people. Etta’s living in the village in the boarding house, so she was happy to stay for supper, though Simonn and Hannah both left, both to feed their siblings. 

Dolora was all kind and made a delicious supper and it was a nice meal. I walked with Etta back to the boarding house because I hate the idea of my friends walking home alone at night. (I had a lantern for walking back to my house.) I like people and Etta’s a good friend. I hope she can stay for a while. 

 

20 February 1616

Etta got another letter today saying her mother was getting pox marks. Most of us around here had the pox when we were little (both kinds), but Etta says her town really didn’t have anyone with pox. Apparently no one ever comes or goes. It’s worrisome. 

I wonder what Dolora does for the pox. I don’t know how many people die from it, but it’s certainly something that needs to be treated. 

 

27 February 1616

Etta had to leave today. Her mother has a fever and pox marks, so it’s looking like smallpox. I guess it could be chicken pox, but who knows? They’re both dangerous. So Etta said today was her last day and she’d have to go home to take care of her mother. 

“Good luck,” I said. 

“Thanks. I’ll try to write.”

“I will too. You spell it T-O-P-H-A-M, right?”

“Mm-hmm. And your name is L-E-I-J-O-N?”

“Yep. I’m going to miss you!” 

“Me too.”

I hugged her and then said, “I hope your mother gets better.”

“Thanks. I’ll do what I can.”

“All the best.”

“You too.”

“Bye!”

“Goodbye.” 

I really do hope her mother is alright. It sounds like she liked her mother, or at least got along with her. And I am going to miss Etta. I hope she writes. 

 

4 March 1616

Simonn left his glasses at Dolora’s again today and when he came back looking for them, he tripped on one of the kitchen chairs. The only thing really significant about it is that when he tripped, he blurted, “I’m sorry!”

“What are you sorry for?” I asked. 

“Nothing. But my boss gets annoyed if I trip at work.”

“Simonn, are you sure about that job? You could always get one somewhere else.”

“It’s fine. Mr. Peters is alright, and it pays well, but the other worker can be a real jerk.” 

“Alright…”

“I’m fine, really.”

“Alright, Simonn.” 

“If I wanted a different job, I’d get one. I’m just not coordinated enough for most jobs.”

“Hey, I’m just trying to keep an eye out for you. You’re my best friend.” 

“And you’re mine.”

“Have fun at work, then.”

“You too.” 

I hope he is alright. It worries me that he might be at a job that’s making him miserable. I might worry too much about my friends, but I can’t really help it. I just worry. 

 

28 March 1616

And here I thought I was getting better about not losing my journal! Somehow it got stuck behind my writing desk and I didn’t find it until today. Nothing much has happened; I got a letter from Etta and Sigmun’s kept his job and Simonn’s kept his. I’ve gotten some work done on my wedding dress. Not much ever happens around here, so that’s about all I have to say. 

 

31 March 1616

I was feeling nervous about being married today and it’s mostly because in the romance books, they say it hurts, a woman’s wedding night. On the other hand, the books are written by men, and how would they know? I doubt they ask their wives. And…I’ve never actually seen a naked man, of course, excepting one very informative anatomy textbook I borrowed from Dolora a few months ago because I was curious about how the body must renew blood because I mean, after a bad cut or something, you get the blood back…It would seem I’m rambling some, but the point still stands. I’m just nervous.

The books also mention bleeding. I hope I don’t start bleeding. I mean, I bleed once every month, and that’s plenty enough for me. But I know my love would never hurt me, so maybe it won’t hurt. I certainly hope so.

 

8 April 1616

It was unseasonably warm today, so Sigmun and I went to the clearing without the pine tree in the middle and sat around and discussed things. And I asked the question that’s been on my mind for ages now.

“When we are married…do you want children?”

“Do you want children?”

“I asked you! Do you?”

“And I’m asking you! Do you want children or not? You’ll be the one being pregnant for nine months.”

“…Yes. Do you?”

“Yes.” He said it without hesitation.

“How many?” I asked. 

“Oh, I don’t know. I’ve just always wanted children.”

“I want lots of children. Four or five.”

“I bet they’d all be as clever as their mother.”

“I think they’d be as brave as their father.” He nudged me and smiled.

“I do want children. Especially since you’re going to be a great mother.”

“Thanks. You’ll be a wonderful father.”

There was silence while we watched the river and the sunset. “You know…I don’t tell you how much I love you enough.”

“I love you too.”

“But I mean it! I love you so much and I never tell you!”

“You do. You help pay for the house and you ask me if I want children and you give me flowers and all that. I don’t tell you often enough how much I love you.” 

“You do tell me, though, all the time. Every day.”

“Because I can’t just not tell you!” 

He smiled and kissed me and I loved the feeling of real love because I still feel like no one loves me sometimes. “You’re much too nice to me,” I said.

“You deserve it. You deserve everything I could hope to give you and more.”

I laughed shortly. “I don’t deserve that. You deserve better than me.”

“You’ve got it backwards.”

“I don’t!”

“How about we agree that both of us are good people and be done with it?” He splashed me and I’m sure I squealed.

I didn’t say anything for a little while. “Darling…” I started.

“Yes?”

“What if I can’t have children?”

“What do you mean?”

“If I can’t have children. Or if I only have daughters.”

“I really don’t care if we only have daughters, or only have sons, or no children, or eleven children. I’ll still love you. And I’ll still love any children we have. Why would you ask?”

“Because my blood mother only ever had two children. Most nobility have seven or eight, you know that. What if I can’t have any?”

“Then you can’t have children. What’s wrong with that?”

“I…I don’t know. I just…well, if I can’t have children, there must be something wrong with me.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“How?”

“How does it make sense?”

“It makes sense because…you remember Mrs. Henderson, how she never had any children and everyone said it was some divine punishment. Not having children…they say it means there’s something wrong with you. That’s just how people say it works.”

“But it takes two people for a child, right? So what if a man can’t have children? Is there something wrong with him?”

“I don’t know, nobody bothers with that!”

“So how the hell would anybody know, if we never have children, if it’s you or I who can’t have children? Or even both?”

“It doesn’t matter, everyone will blame me.”

“They shouldn’t.”

“They will anyways.”

“Well, I won’t care. And if we have five daughters or five sons or some mix, I will love all of them and I will love you.”

“And I will love you.”

“Then it doesn’t have to matter.”

I sighed. “I’m just so damn tired of the whole world looking at me like I’ve done something wrong.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Then you know why I don’t want to not have children.”

“But do you want children at all?”

“Yes.” I know I want children, outside of what people say. “This has been such a circular conversation.”

“It certainly has.”

The moonlight glinted through the tree branches and I noticed it must’ve been almost nine. “I have to head home.”

“Do you want to stay the night? I--wait--I don’t mean--”

“No, I know what you mean. But I can’t. I have some sewing to do, and I left my bow and arrows at home.”

“Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Definitely. Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

I don’t know why I never considered if there are men who can’t have children. Perhaps it’s because everyone assumes it’s the woman’s fault, no matter what. I wish “everyone” didn’t mean so much to me as it does. I suppose never having children wouldn’t be so horrible. I could always adopt a child the way Dolora did. And I suppose the way my mother did. But they say it’s a punishment if you can’t have children, and I don’t want to be punished. I don’t think I’ve done anything horribly wrong. I also don’t know if I believe it’s a punishment. 

I’m so tired I can’t see straight. It’s most definitely time for me to go to bed.

 

17 April 1616

Today was a Sunday, so Simonn didn’t have work, so he was at Dolora and Sigmun’s, pacing and all but tearing his hair out. 

“Simonn, are you alright?” I asked. 

“No!”

“What’s wrong?”

“You know how I said I have those freaky future-nightmares.”

“Yes…” 

“Well, I had one last night.”

“And?”

“And in it Isabella and both my parents were dead!”

“Simonn, take a deep breath. You sure it wasn’t just a nightmare?”

“I know the difference.” 

“Are they sick?”

Simonn sighed and looked left. “I think so. My father won’t talk about it, but he and my mother have been tired all the time. And I thought I saw Isabella scratching a pox mark the other day.” 

“Oh, Simonn, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine. I might yet be wrong. I’ll…I’ll take care of them. I can take care of them!”

“Of course you can. They’ll be fine.”

“Yeah. They’ll be alright,” he said, but I don’t think he really believed it. 

 

30 April 1616

Today was a little strange.

Sigmun and I went to the clearing with all the forget-me-nots and sat in the sun after work and all that and I felt very warm and safe and it was nice.

“Sigmun?”

“Hm?”

“…Can I tell you something?”

“Sure.”

“I just…I want you to know how much I trust you.”

“Okay…?”

“No, I mean…okay, by marrying you, legally speaking, I’m not my own person anymore. You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“So, I just want you to know that since I don’t really have to marry you for financial support, I’m just putting a lot of trust in you by marrying you.”

“I know.”

“I’m not sure you quite get the whole picture, though. I mean, you could hit me like my mother did and legally speaking, you’d have the right. Well, at least, the judge would say you did. Technically, I won’t own much of anything, and I won’t have my own money. It’ll be yours. Along with most everything else I own. You could do pretty much whatever you liked to me. You could force me and no one would care. Legally speaking, you’ll own me. So I just want you to know I’m trusting you a lot by marrying you.”

“I’d never hurt you! You…you know that, right?” He sounded nervous, like I might not know that.

“Of course I do. That’s why I’m trusting you.”

“Well…thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He was very warm next to me, like people are, and I rested my head on his shoulder because it felt nice. I do trust him, very much, and I wanted him to know that.

 

2 May 1616

Simonn stopped by today and apparently there’s no denying it anymore; Isabella has pox marks and both his parents have a fever of some sort. He said he might have to quit his job if they get much worse. His father was almost seeing things from fever and Isabella’s pox looks like variola. 

 

11 May 1616

I have never been so embarrassed in my entire life. Ever. I’m about ready to die. I think Sigmun probably feels worse, though. At least I still have the house for…damn. The person from the bank should be coming this week. Where will I live? My choices are clear: with Simonn, with Sigmun and Dolora, or on the streets. Simonn has his little sister and his father and mother to take care of, so I don’t think that works. Living on the streets is needless danger and pain. Which leaves Sigmun and Dolora’s house. Maybe Dolora will let me stay there for a couple weeks? At least Neolla found a place to stay.

Unless by some miracle we can afford to keep this house. Which I guess is possible, if there is a miracle. I suppose I can’t give up hope.

Oh, the reason I’m still blushing is that…well, Dolora found Sigmun and I kissing. She said she’d be in the market until late, so we thought (erroneously) that it’d be okay. We studied a bit of chemistry when Simonn was there, then he left and we had lunch and then we were sitting on the couch reading a book of poetry and he kissed me like he does, all passionate and sensuous. I think he kissed me hard enough to leave one of those little bruises on my neck. I’m afraid it hurts him when we kiss like that because I can’t help but dig my nails into his skin, but he says it doesn’t hurt. Maybe he means it hurts in a good way, like when his teeth sort of nip at my skin and I like it.

Anyways, our lips were pressed together and I was lying on top of him when I heard someone drop a pot or pan or something and I kind of panicked. I guessed it was Simonn, which would be awful but not too bad. Then I heard Dolora say, “Oh, clumsy me.” I heard the laughter in her voice and I knew she’d seen us and I was about ready to die. I saw Sigmun’s face go from a little flushed to a red that rather looked like wine. “Do you think…” he started in a whisper.

“Yeah,” I answered, also whispering. “I do.”

Neither of us said anything for a moment, then I sat up so I wasn’t on top of him anymore and tried to not blush.

“You’re red as a sunset,” he said.

“You’re redder,” I shot back. “I--I’m just going to leave now.”

“Yeah, okay,” he said, still a violent shade of scarlet. “I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Dianna dear, would you like to stay for dinner?” Dolora called.

“No, it’s okay,” I said, far too quickly. I ran my fingertips along my hairline and pressed them to my temples because there was no easy way out of this. Sigmun ran his fingers down my mess of hair to rest on my waist. “Come on, I’ll walk you out, like I said.”

“Thanks.”

He took my hand and walked me to the door, and I fully intended to just leave. But Dolora called, “Are you sure you don’t want to stay, Dianna dear? I’m making mashed potatoes.” I love mashed potatoes, but I wasn’t going to stay when my face was still scarlet.

“I really need to go home and finish my leftovers,” I said.

“Alright.” I could hear her laughing and I could feel my face heating up. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“Bye, Dolora.”

Sigmun shrugged and kissed me once on the cheek. “See you tomorrow, love.”

“See you, darling.”

I left and I’m still humiliated. That was just really bad luck and I…I don’t know. I hope she doesn’t bring it up tomorrow because I’d just die.

 

15 May 1616

Simonn quit work today. His parents are bedridden and Isabella is starting to get scared. Simonn said he promised her he’d teacher her to write and so he’s been doing that when he has the time. 

I hate writing about such sad things, but it’s weighing on me. Not as much as Simonn, but I like Isabella and Simonn’s so tired whenever I see him. 

I tried to get him to let me help out, but he shook his head and said I shouldn’t because I never had scarlet fever, and he did. (Part of the reason his vision is so horrible, I think.) And then he left to go take care of his family. 

 

18 May 1616

I forgot about the silver! I can sell the silver and that should be plenty enough to keep the house! I knew I saving it was a good idea! If I add what Sigmun and I have saved to the silver, I can keep my house and everything will work out! There’s even two bedrooms, and it is quite a nice house. It’s a bit unconventional, but then, isn’t my whole life?

I was hoping for a miracle, and here one is!

 

18 May, later

I’m at Dolora and Sigmun’s because I couldn’t sleep. I just had this uneasy feeling about the house and I kept tossing and turning and finally I gave up, packed a bag, and walked over here with a lantern. I undid the latch and let myself in and found the blankets I borrow when I come over here and I hope Dolora won’t mind. I just had this awful feeling of dread.

 

19 May 1616

Oh my goodness. I am the luckiest person in the world.

I went into the village today and apparently there’s a robber who breaks into homes, steals people’s silver, slits their throats, and leaves. I thought that was frightening, but then I went home and all the silver was gone, and the door latches were broken, all three of them. I panicked and ran back to Sigmun and Dolora’s and started pacing because what if he came back to cut my throat? What if he came back to kill me? I bet it’s a man; I don’t know of any woman criminals.

Dolora gave me a cup of tea and told me that I would be perfectly safe, but I could stay with them another night if I wanted. I told her I’d be fine and I’m sure I will be.

But there goes my house. That silver was going to pay off the house! It was going to work out! But no, this silver thief has to jump in and ruin everything! I guess we’ll have to live with Dolora, then, because that silver was probably about a quarter of the house money, which was already half of what a house normally costs. There’s no way we can afford a house on our own.

Things never seem to deal out in my favor these days.

 

20 May 1616

The man from the bank came today. Since I didn’t have the money, he said I’d have to leave by tomorrow. I packed up everything and walked to Dolora and Sigmun’s and when Dolora opened the door, she had me put everything on the couch and hugged me tightly because she must know how hard this has been on me.

“It’s alright, Dianna dear. You can stay in the guest room.”

“The guest room?”

“I cleared out the storage room; it used to be my aunt and uncle’s guest room when they lived here with my cousin. You can stay there.”

“Thank you so much, Dolora.”

“Any time, Dianna dear.”

“What can I pay you for this?”

“Nothing. You don’t need to pay me for anything.”

“But you do so much for me—”

“Because I care about you, Dianna dear.”

I felt that funny sort of feeling in my heart that I get when someone tells me they love me and I hugged her again. “Dianna dear, look at me.” I did, and she said, “No matter what may happen, you are always—and I do mean always—welcome here. Understand?”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Would you like any help moving your things?”

“No, it’s okay, I’m fine,” I said. I don’t want to burden her with anything else; she’s already much too kind to me. I don’t deserve to be allowed to stay in someone’s guest room when I’ve lost my house and I’ve already been such a burden and I don’t deserve Dolora’s kindness or care. I don’t know why she bothers with me.

 

20 May, later

Sigmun blushed scarlet when I told him I’d be staying there for a few weeks because the man from the bank came by and took the house, I suppose because we’ll be living in the same house before we’re married. It is a bit scandalous, but I really have nowhere else to go and he said he’d rather I be here anyways, because then I was safe.

“You worry too much.”

“There was a silver thief at your house just two nights ago. Your mother used to scream at you at all hours of the day and night. You were attacked in 1614, not so long ago. You get harassed every day you walk down the street. You told me you always carry a knife with you. And that’s just you! I get fairly regular death threats. I can’t go places without a knife on me. People are always threatening to kill or hurt Mama. Simonn dreams about his family dying…Need I go on? There is plenty to worry about.”

“Love, you should stick to worrying about you, not about me. I can take care of myself.”

“I’ll still worry.”

I rolled my eyes jokingly and rested my head on his chest. “You’re sweet.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time.”

It’s nice to know that he cares about me. At least someone does.

 

29 May 1616

I guess I panicked today when I was thinking about the wedding now that it’s two weeks away, and I ended up babbling to Simonn for longer than I think he cared to listen.

“I mean, just…what if he snores, or what if I snore, or what if after we have children we don’t get along anymore, or what if when we’re older it turns out we don’t love each other anymore, or what if he starts drinking, or what if I do, or…what if we don’t get along in bed….or…”

“Have you actually spent time and energy thinking about this?”

“Yes…”

“First of all, if I know you both, snoring won’t wake up either of you. Second of all, why are you already worrying about children, and why would having children or getting older at all change how in love you two are? Third of all, no one is going to start drinking. You aren’t, I know Siggy hates the feeling of the morning after drinking with a passion. Fourth of all, why wouldn’t you and him, quote, ‘get along in bed’, unquote? You’ve been in love since you were sixteen. At least you can get married.”

“But what if…”

I kept on like that for a while and Simonn listened and kept telling me why I shouldn’t be worried. I just…I panicked. I’m so worried. It doesn’t make sense, but I am. I’m also excited, and nervous, and joyful, and overwhelmed, and even a little bit hopeful. 

 

31 May 1616

Simonn’s father died today. 

Simonn tried not to cry, but he was shaking all over and His face was all red and tearstained. We all went to the church service, except Isabella and Simonn’s mother, and even though I never really met Simonn’s father, it was so sad to see him lying in the coffin like he’d wake up and start just living again. The priest did all the blessings and he was buried in Simonn’s family’s plot in the graveyard, next to Simonn’s grandparents. 

I’d write more, but we’re at Simonn’s house and he’s crying again. I’m going to do what I can to help out. Of all people who need help right now, I think Simon needs it most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah it actually was considered divine punishment if a woman couldn't have children back then. Really cheery. 
> 
> Variola is an old-timey word for smallpox. 
> 
> Also, I am once again ahead of schedule, so the next few chapters should be right on time, if not a little early.


	28. Wedding Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wedding date arrives and not all is well.

1 June 1616

I’ve been at their house for about two weeks, and I guess he noticed how much trouble I have waking up in the morning. I just don’t like waking up. So today, he knocked on my door and said, “Hello?”

“Come in.”

“Do I know you? Because you look a lot like my future wife.”

“I certainly hope so!”

“I’m trying to be cute here, help you waking up and everything.”

“I don’t want to wake up.”

“You’ve got work, though. C’mon, love.”

“Ugh, fine.” I dragged myself out of bed before realizing that he’d never seen me in pajamas before and I was embarrassed because I was a mess, my hair all tangled and messy and my face tired and ugly. “Uh…sorry. I’m going to—”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I’m a mess.”

“So?”

“So, I’m a mess! I haven’t brushed my hair, or put on a bodice or anything—”

“It’s the morning. I’m a mess, too.”

“You’re not.”

“Well, I also woke up half an hour ago.”

“How on Earth did you manage that?”

“I like waking up early. I like being awake when the sun is shining.”

“You’re mad.”

“I’m not!”

“I don’t know how I’m going to put up with you when I’m sleeping in the same bed as you…”

He blushed and said, “I’m going to go make breakfast.”

“Have fun.” He left and I was left to wonder why on Earth I’d said that and get dressed. I hate lacing up my bodice; it’s hard and unpleasant. The only reason I can lace mine up on my own is because I was determined to never rely on my mother from the time I was eight.

 

2 June 1616

Simonn’s mother is getting worse, but he’s been teaching Isabella to write every day and he says she’s been doing well. Simonn’s father’s boss said Simonn can have Simonn’s father’s old job, which pays better than Simonn’s old job. Simonn said he’d take the man on his offer once his mother and Isabella recover (or don’t). 

 

5 June 1616

Mariek came over today and we had the strangest conversation.

“Hey, Dianna.”

“Hi, Mariek.” As usual, I made two cups of tea and buttered two slices of bread. “How’s life been?”

“Fine. My aunt tried to get me engaged again,” Mariek said conversationally.

“Too bad,” I answered.

“Yeah. How about you? You’re getting married in a week!”

“Oh, you know. A little nervous. A little busy. A lot anxious…”

“Hey, can I give you some advice?”

Odd. “Sure.”

“Look, I know you guys all think I’m a crazy whore. And maybe I am, but this crazy whore has some experience and I just want to give you some advice.”

“Fire away.”

“I know I always bug you about wanting to sleep with him, but it’s true, isn’t it?” I nodded, because for once, she wasn’t trying to be invulnerable. She always tries to be invulnerable. “Alright. I was just gonna say two things. First…the only reason you should ever sleep with a man--or a woman, but I’d guess you love men--is because you want to.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Remember 1614? March?”

“Of course.” I pushed my hair away from the scar on my forehead and sighed. It’s an awful memory; my breaths speed and my heart pounds even writing it. I held back the flood of memories because I wanted to listen to her advice, but I could feel my hands shaking.

“That’s why. Just saying, you shouldn’t let someone pressure you into sleeping with them. Any pressure at all means they’re probably a complete jackass. Including your precious Sigmun.”

“He wouldn’t!”

“He sure doesn’t seem like he would, I’ll give you that. But you never know.”

“I do know, Mariek.”

“Well, if you two split or he dies young or something, and you fall in love again, you still shouldn’t sleep with anyone, anyone at all, unless you want to.”

“Alright, alright.”

“Hey, stuff’s happened to me and I just don’t want it to happen to you guys, alright?”

“Yes, it’s fine. What’s the second thing?” I couldn’t help but wonder what she meant by “stuff”.

Mariek sighed. “It’s okay to enjoy it.”

“What d’you mean?”

“It’s okay to like it. It’s okay to not like it. It’s the reason I sleep with guys and girls; I like it. Sometimes I don’t, so I don’t again. Sometimes I like it, so I do. They’re both okay.”

“Thanks for the reassurance.”

“Any time. Anyways, I think it’s great you two are getting married. You’re perfect for each other.” She sounded almost regretful. “Wish there was someone out there like that for me.”

“There is. Of course there is.”

“Who’d love me? I’m the crazy whore, remember?”

“So? We still love you. You’re my friend.”

She managed half a smile and a sip of tea. “Thanks, Dianna.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ve gotta go. Aunt Katherine’s gonna be expecting me.”

“See you.”

“Bye.”

I’ve never really considered that Mariek could give advice like that. I guess she’s cleverer than I ever gave her credit for, especially since she says “stuff” has happened to her and I don’t know what that means, but I hope it’s not what I think it means. I think Mariek is a very different person when she’s alone.

 

11 June 1616

Today was all wedding preparations and worrying and finishing up my dress and Dolora fussing over things and Simonn pretending he wasn’t so stretched thin that he might snap. Mariek said that since Dolora would be helping Sigmun get his suit on properly, she’d help me with my dress, which I’m grateful for. I’m no good at makeup or any of that. 

Simonn said he’s going to be at the wedding and the dinner, but he’d probably have to leave early because Richard could only do so much to take care of the sick members of his family. I told him not to worry at all, just do whatever he needed to do. 

Oh, and just before I was going to go to bed, I turned around and saw my dress and I saw a spider on it, so I shrieked and swatted at it.

“Dianna?” Mariek called.

“Sorry. I saw a spider on my dress.”

“Good.”

“Good?”

“I put it there for luck.”

“Luck!? What on Earth?”

“It’s good luck to find a spider on your wedding dress!”

“Mariek…”

“Hey, luck is very important. It’s a blue dress, right? And you sewed on that old lace?”

“Mariek, you care more about this than I do.”

“Because you don’t know anything about luck!”

“I’m going to bed, and if there are any more spiders…”

“There aren’t, I swear.”

“Good night, then.”

“Good night.”

 

12 June 1616

Well, I’m officially married as of just hours ago! My wedding dress, the lovely blue dress with the white accents, is hanging on the closet door of a different room now. It was such a lovely wedding. Even though Mariek insisted that we follow every wedding superstition she could think of. I was already planning something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue. My dress was new, and it was blue, I borrowed a necklace from Hannah, and Mariek gave me some old lace from her mother’s wedding dress. Mariek also made Sigmun wear a flower in the buttonhole of that suit he looked so handsome in (she’s so superstitious). And everything smells like the lavender from my bouquet (which is in a vase on the desk in what’s now my room, next to my journal), a scent I think I will forever love.

Mariek woke me up far too early and I was already tense, but she said she was going to braid up my hair for luck.

“Luck?”

“Mm-hmm. And don’t forget the veil; it’ll ward off spirits.”

“You’re mad.”

“Oh, and here’s a penny. It goes in your shoe and make it into jewelry later.”

“What’s wrong with just my rings?”

“Nothing. It’s luck.”

“You’re so superstitious…You care more about this than I do.”

“C’mon, I’ll help you get dressed.”

“Thanks.” She helped me with my bodice and everything, which was very nice of her because I hate doing up my bodice and it’s nice when someone helps me out.

Anyways, Sigmun left before I did for the church, so I didn’t see him until the wedding, which is another superstition. And it rained a little, yet another one. It was a normal wedding, and we said our vows and everything, and I cried. I think he did, too, but it was hard to tell because I was shaking so much. I threw my bouquet and Hannah caught it (I certainly hope she’s the next to be married!), even though she gave it back later. It was all about luck today. Even Neolla gave me a small bell to put in my bouquet. I’m grateful to whoever decided that brides could throw their bouquets because I’ve heard a lot of stories about people who ripped up a bride’s dress for luck and that sounds quite terrifying. The only tradition no one bothered with was the one where the father gives away the bride, because I don’t really have a father and no one’s ever owned me, anyways.

Dolora made such a lovely dinner and a nice cake and the dinner was a wonderful celebration and everyone was laughing and smiling and just generally being happy. We even danced some, twirling in circles while Neolla played the fiddle (she’s been learning from Mrs. Jacobson). It was almost eleven by the time everyone left and Mariek winked at me and raised her eyebrows right before she left with Neolla, which made me blush scarlet, because I knew exactly what she meant and (to be brutally honest) she was right. Oh, and we saved the slice of cake we cut together because it’s tradition.

It was a wonderful, dreamy wedding and I’m so happy right now and I can’t stop playing with my new ring. It’s gold and lovely and there’s a pattern of leaves and vines and flowers etched very lightly on the inside. His matches mine exactly. He kept kissing me, just randomly and when I wasn’t expecting it, and it was like he couldn’t believe that we were married. Right after we exchanged rings and kissed and he whispered, “I hope you know this is the best moment of my life.”

“Me too.”

And he’s had this huge smile on his face all day, gorgeous and glowing and adorable. I’m sure I have a matching smile. I was crying when I kissed him and I’m sure I was shaking not because I was sad, but because I was so deliriously happy. I didn’t think it was possible to contain that much joy in my too-small body.

It’s late now, and I just wanted to write to get rid of some of this energy. I’ve been shaking nonstop since I walked through the doors of the church. And it’s my wedding night; I know what that means. It’s just been a wonderful day. I don’t think I’ll ever have a better one.

 

13 June 1616

Of course I had to go to work today. I was exhausted today, and I suppose Pamela noticed.

“Leijon!” she snapped. “Work faster! Don’t be so lazy!”

“Vantas,” I corrected.

“What?”

“I got married yesterday. It’s Dianna Vantas.”

“That is not excuse to be slow and useless. You have work here that is more important than any marriage’s work.” I fought her hard for a single day off to be married. And I told her I was getting married, for heaven’s sake.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Yes I did.

“Don’t be an idiot, Vantas. Get to work,” Pamela said sharply. David snickered. “And you!” she added.

Which reminds me. It’s the oddest thing. Last night, he asked me. He asked me if I was sure I wanted to do this, was I really, really sure, because if I didn’t want to it was okay, he promised, and I had to tell him about seven times that I was sure. And then I asked him about ten times if he was sure and he had to tell me about ten times that he was sure. It’s just odd because as far as I know, men don’t bother asking. I mean, my friends’ and my experiences with men mostly involve not asking. And I think its kind. I think it’s human decency to ask, because a person’s body is her or his own and it’s up to her or him to choose who they’re going to be close to that way. It surprises me (in a very good way) that he would ask.

I’m certainly glad he asked. It’s nice to know he wouldn’t do something like that.

And it didn’t hurt. I thought it was supposed to hurt. I mean, I guess I’m a little achy, but nothing like the bleeding pain they describe in books. How odd.

Also, he’s very good-looking shirtless. 

 

14 June 1616

Johanna and Pamela had another fight today. I wish they wouldn’t fight so much. It’s very irritating.

It’s very strange, the concept of being married. I didn’t feel any shift in the way I feel about him (touching him has never really changed how I feel about him), or anything like that. I just feel like there’s something special about swearing all your love to one person for the rest of your life. I certainly hope it’s a long time. I very much like being married.

 

15 June 1616

Today I was lacing up my bodice like I always do and I was cursing and getting generally irritated like I always do and my love turned to me and asked, “Do you want any help?”

“I’m fine.” I said grumpily. “Damn this thing!”

“Seriously, let me help,” he said, taking the strings from me and lacing up my bodice the way I do, except a little different, a little looser.

“Is that alright? Too tight? Too loose?”

“It’s fine. A bit loose…”

“Jeez, I feel like I’ll hurt you if I make it any tighter.”

“I’m used to it.”

“You know, you always say ‘I’m used to it.’ Do you mean you’re used to it or you don’t mind it? Cuz there is a difference.”

“I mean I’m used to it. Just tie it, will you? I have work.”

“I just don’t want to hurt you!”

“You’re not hurting me. I swear. How’d you know how, anyways?”

“It’s the same as the way you lace up shoes, far as I can tell, and I do work for the shoemaker, you know. Anyways, I certainly know how to unlace your bodice,” he added with that cheeky little smile of his.

“You’re all talk. I undo my own bodice and you know it.”

“Hm, I seem to remember things a bit differently…” I rolled my eyes and smiled.

“Well anyways, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He paused, his fingers resting lightly on my upper back. “If it helps, I think you’re lovely with or without a bodice.”

“Thank you, but I can’t just stop wearing it.”

“Why not?”

Actually, there are two reasons I wear a bodice: one, all women wear a bodice and I prefer my bodice to anything else because it’s more comfortable and easier to lace up; and two, it provides some support for my chest. But I couldn’t explain the second reason because I’m hopelessly shy and bad at explaining things.

“Because everyone wears one. It’s just part of life.”

“Since when has everyone else really influenced what you do?”

“Since it’s more comfortable than walking around without one!”

“How is that possible?”

“Well, it’s certainly more comfortable than just walking around without anything supporting my chest!” I snapped.

He blushed crimson. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.”

“Well, it’s your business.”

“Maybe so, but for heaven’s sake, you’re lacing up my bodice.”

He grinned and kissed me and said, “C’mon. Work.”

Work was fine today, except Pamela was screaming at us again. I’m so sick of her.

 

16 June 1616

Simonn’s mother died today. The funeral was horrible, even worse than his father’s. They buried her right next to Simonn’s father and Simonn was supposed to say something, but he couldn’t manage to. It was so awful. Simonn was shaking all over, like he did last time, trying not to cry. His siblings were all crying, though. Isabella had to stay home, because her pox has gotten really bad, but I walked Simonn home afterwards and it was clear she’d been crying, too. 

I feel so guilty getting married and being all happy in the middle of all this sadness. But I guess I’ll just do what I can to help out Simonn. He needs it. 

 

17 June 1616

I suppose I was distracted this morning because when I got to work, I realized that my shirt was too big and the sleeves were practically covering my hands and it was a bit too tight across my chest, which made no sense because I sew all my clothes to fit. So I pinned the sleeves to fit and started work and it wasn’t until I noticed that the thread was bright red that I realized I was wearing one of my love’s shirts. I felt my cheeks flush, but I don’t think anyone noticed. Except Catherine, who asked if I was alright, and I said it was just too warm inside. 

 

18 June 1616

We were sitting today on the bed at the end of the day when he said, “Can I tell you something really embarrassing?”

“…Sure?” I supposed it would be something silly.

“D’you remember, way back in February, in 1612, when you saved my life?”

“Of course I do.”

“Okay…Before that, I had this really dumb idea about…about having a romance with, with you, like in the books…I don’t know. I always dreamed that I’d be the knight, and you’d be the princess, and…I don’t know, I just always thought I’d be the one rescuing you.” He blushed and looked at his feet, scratching one foot with the other. “I’d be the knight. But I was lying there, and I couldn’t quite breathe, and I could barely see straight, and…you were the knight. I was the princess. I guess…I guess I kind of realized…I wasn’t the knight. You didn’t need a knight. I didn’t have to rescue you. I don’t know. It’s just, I realized that…Romance isn’t about being the knight. It’s like, sometimes we’re both the knight, or both the princess, and sometimes you’re the knight and I’m the princess, and sometimes the other way around, and that’s how it’s supposed to be, you know? I sound like an idiot.”

“No you don’t. Not at all.”

“I do, though.”

“No, you don’t. My dumb romance ideas were all just stupid dreams I had, I couldn’t even control them.”

“Is real life as good as your romance dreams?”

“It’s better.”

“Good to know.” He kissed my neck and wrapped one arm around my waist. I’m sure I blushed, because I know I blush a lot, but he does that sort of thing to be all seductive and (funny enough) it usually works.

 

19 June 1616

Again, today, he looked nervous when I got home from work and sprawled on the bed like I do after a particularly stressful or irritating day.

“Hey, can I tell you something else really dumb?”

“Feel free.”

“You remember the first time we kissed, in June, four years ago?”

“Clear as a bell.”

“This is going to sound ridiculous…but I thought that would be the only time I kissed you.”

“Oh?”

“That’s why I had that whole stupid speech or whatever all thought out. I figured, it would be the only time I’d kiss you, so I might as well make it a good one.”

“You planned that whole thing out?”

He blushed crimson. “Sort of…”

“That’s sweet.”

“It’s mad.”

“I mean it. It’s sweet.” He shrugged. “Hey,” I said. “Can I tell you something embarrassing?”

“I’ve already told you two. Go ahead.”

“Okay…well, back when we were younger, and my mother kept me inside like she did…I planned those letters to you all day in my head. And then I’d write them slowly, all carefully, except towards the end, but I started getting sick then, so.” I shrugged. “And I kept all your letters.”

“I kept yours, too.”

“Really?”

“Really. What did you think I did?”

“Threw them out. They were pretty unextraordinary. I was sick as a dog for the last couple months.”

“It’s not like my letters were anything special.”

“You wrote me sonnets, love. I think that’s amazing. And they were from you.”

“Thanks.” He blushed redder and sat so that if he flopped back, he’d be lying right next to me. “Bad day at work?”

“Horrible. Pamela’s awful, Susan doesn’t talk, Johanna’s the bossiest human being ever to be born, David’s just a plain old horrible person, my fingers hurt like hell…the usual.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, moving closer to me. “Sounds awful.”

“Could be worse. Your job sounds worse than mine.”

“The people are marginally more tolerable.”

“What were they like today?”

“Well, Paul still doesn’t know why no one wants to marry him. Peter still thinks he’s the best person to ever walk the Earth. Kyle still won’t shut up about his fiancée because he knows it bothers Paul. And Ralph is still an idiot. So nothing new.” (Our shoemaker is the only one in the closest five villages, so he has a lot of apprentices.)

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I can live with it. They don’t talk to me.”

“Why not?”

“They think I’m odd.”

I laughed and patted his arm. “They’re not wrong. But it’s a good thing.” 

“You know, I’m tempted sometimes to just quit this job and get one where I can tolerate the other people.”

“You should.”

“We need the money.”

I gave him a skeptical look.

“Maybe I can get a better-paying job, too.”

“I just want you to be happy. Find a job you like.”

“No one would hire me at the job I want.”

“Then find something you at least like a little.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Have you seen a single woman working anywhere else but the seamstress’s?”

“I suppose not.”

“I don’t really want to take the time to find a new job, anyways.”

“If you say so.”

I rolled over to face him and kissed him, because what the hell? I mean, we’re married now. It doesn’t matter. He kissed me back and even though I hate my job, at least I like my life at home.

 

20 June 1616

I have no idea how long it’s supposed to take for me to start carrying a child. I don’t really care, either. It’s bound to happen eventually. I know I have years to have children, but worries plague me that I’m one of those women who can’t bear children. I have a hunch my mother was when she adopted me. I have no idea what inherited traits might affect my ability to have children and I wish I did. I’m just a little scared that I’ll never have children and if I do, they won’t live.

Isabella’s been doing well with writing, according to Simonn. I hope she recovers and keeps writing. 

 

21 June 1616

I’ve never been as close to another person in my entire life as Sigmun and I know it sounds awful but I like it. I like how tightly we’re pressed together and I like the feeling of heat and intensity and I just like how much sensation there is. I just feel so much more when we’re together like that and I love it. I mean…it’s not perfect, not by any means, but I still like it. I guess that awful feeling that it’s wrong isn’t gone, though I’d like to pretend it is. I dislike shame after the years my mother spent making me ashamed over everything I did, but there’s not a lot I can do about it, either.

Work has been a pain in the neck because I’m far too happy to focus on anything.

 

22 June 1616

My husband (how odd it is to be able to say that) woke up today and he was in a good mood like only he is in the morning (how he manages that, I do not know) and he said, “Dianna?”

“Mm.” I’m not very articulate in the morning.

“Can I borrow a kiss? I promise I’ll give it back.”

“Was that a line?” I tried to sound properly annoyed, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

“…Maybe?”

“Don’t worry about giving it back.” I kissed him on the lips and then tried to get out of bed. However, gravity is stronger in the early morning around a comfortable bed and I failed.

“It’s time to face the day, darling.”

“The day can go die in a ditch.”

“Love, there’s a whole day of things to do!”

“Name three better than sleeping in. I’ll get out of bed if you can name three.”

“Chocolate. Friends. Uh…”

“See? That’s just two.”

He leaned closer to me and I bet he grinned, but my eyes were closed. “Sleeping together.”

I groaned. “Fine. You win. But I hate you.”

He laughed and kissed my nose. “You sure?”

“Extremely sure. Now let me get up.”

“Alright.” He helped me lace up my bodice again, which is very nice of him because there are few things I hate more than lacing up my bodice.

Work wasn’t so bad today, except that Pamela kept glaring at me as if I’d killed her mother. Heaven forbid I take a day off work to get married.

 

23 June 1616

My love looked vaguely ill today, so of course I asked him what was wrong.

“My coworkers.”

“What about them?”

“Well, they think I don’t listen to them. So they talk about me when I’m not looking.”

“What do they say?”

“Well, you know what they say about a man who loves his wife.”

“No, actually, I don’t.”

“They say he’s not interesting or handsome or something enough to be loved by anyone else. And some things about me not having a father, and being really damn short, and a variety of other derogatory things like that.”

“I’m sorry, love.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Well, I commiserate anyways.”

“Thanks.”

“Would it help if you faked an affair or something?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I mean it.”

“I do too. I would never.”

“I know that, believe me I do. But I mean, if work’s that unbearable for you—”

“I’m going to lose my job this week anyways.”

“What? Why?”

“The usual. Can’t have this illegitimate thing with some witch for a mother working here!”

“Darling, don’t say that.”

“It’s true. I don’t say things that aren’t true.”

“Neither do I. And you’re probably cleverer than most people at your job. If we’d been born in a different time, I bet all of us would be at university.”

“If we lived in a different time, pretty much every miserable thing in our lives would be better. Think about it! It’d probably be honorable not having affairs. I bet women and people with dark skin and people like me could go to university. And I bet children wouldn’t die so often. Maybe laws would be better and…and things like what happened to you back in 1614 wouldn’t happen. Neolla probably would’ve just been able to go to school. People would have enough to eat all the time…”

“Now who’s being ridiculous?”

“Not me!”

“Sigmun…”

He sighed and stared up at the ceiling. “I just wish things were better.”

“Me too, love. Believe me.” I snuggled closer to him and I kissed his neck and he sighed that sort of relieved sigh that at once comforts and worries me.

“Dianna?”

“Right here.”

“Just…I’m really glad I have you. Does that sound really mushy?”

“Yes. But that’s one of the things I love about you. I’m glad I have you, too.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Also, Simonn’s staying over in the guest room tonight because it rained yesterday and his room has a leak in the roof and now there’s an inch of water in his room. 

 

25 June 1616

Mariek came over today and I think she just has fun messing with my head.

“Hi, Mariek!”

“Hey, Dianna.”

“Tea?”

“Yeah, sure. Ginger?”

“Alright.” Mariek and I communicate with few words this way and I don’t really mind. I put a kettle on the stove and sat across from Mariek.

“So,” she said. “How’s married life?”

“Just the same,” I said. “Work. Eating. Chores. Reading.”

“Sleeping?” Mariek asked with raised eyebrows. I felt my cheeks flush pink.

“Yes, sleeping.”

“Oh. Cuz Simonn told me different,” she tossed off.

“W-what?” I was going to kill Simonn. 

“Oh, he just mentioned that it was so loud he didn’t sleep much.”

“But we’re quiet!” I didn’t mean to say that out loud. (Also I’ve discovered quiet is relative when the entire house is quiet.)

“Ha!” Mariek said triumphantly.

“You little…” I said. “I…Simonn didn’t say anything, did he?”

“Nope,” she said casually. “Just that he hates his job. That’s all.”

“I hate you!” I shrieked. I jumped up in anger and almost knocked over my chair. I could tell my face was crimson. “What did you do that for?”

“Just to get you to admit it,” Mariek said. “So. Tell me the details!”

“No! That’s personal.”

“You guys could ask me anything about the people I spend my time with and I’d tell you. C’mon, Dianna.”

“No.”

“Pleeeeeeeease?” she said, almost pleading but not really.

“What do you even want?” I snapped. What could I possibly tell her that she doesn’t know already?

“I want to know what you think,” Mariek said.

“Fine,” I said, defeated. I sat back down, made sure no one was around, and said, “I like it.”

Mariek gave me this triumphant sort of smile. “I knew it,” she said. “It’s not just me. You like it too! I said it, didn’t I? Men and women both love like that!”

“Who said otherwise?” As if I don’t already know. “You were the one giving me advice just a couple weeks ago!”

“Oh, you know. Mother. Aunt Katherine. Uncle Benjamin. The others. People always say women can’t love that way. Lust is for men. But it’s not, is it? I bet even Hannah loves Simonn that way!”

“So why are you humiliating me?”

“Cuz you’re actually married, so I know for sure, and anyways, you’re less shy.”

I scoffed.

“Well, you’re not exactly obedient. You sure as hell don’t back down.”

“…Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. Got any bread?”

“Yeah,” I said. I left to cut a slice of bread and luckily Mariek didn’t pester me for the rest of the afternoon.

She left me thinking, though. Clearly I’m not the only woman to ever love this way. Obviously men love this way (at least one does), so why shouldn’t women?

But I can hear the footsteps downstairs and it must be my love. I ought to start making dinner.

 

26 June 1616

My fingers ache from work today, but the rest of me is feeling light and airy and only a little embarrassed from talking with Mariek yesterday.

Neolla came over for a cup of tea today. She’s much kinder than Mariek, especially about things I prefer to keep private.

“Mariek was here yesterday,” she said right away.

“How’d you guess?”

“You’re on edge and you look vaguely ill.”

“I feel vaguely ill.”

Neolla half-laughed and followed me to the kitchen while I made tea. “So how’s life been?” she asked.

“Same as ever. Work. Eating. Reading. Chores. Yes, sleeping, before you can ask.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Neolla said. “It’s your life.”

“Am I ever glad to hear that.”

“Mariek was bugging you about it?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I’ll talk to her. She has no boundaries sometimes, honestly…”

“Thanks,” I said gratefully. I’d rather keep my private moments to myself. I have this feeling sometimes that at some point, I won’t have a chance to rest and have personal time like this. It’s a feeling that’s almost contradictory, urging me to rest now, sleep now, love now, while I still can. It urges me to sleep late, spend my days resting or doing frivolous things. Sometimes, I feel it urge me to have children, as if I won’t have a chance later. I know I’ve got years for children, years and years, so this funny little instinct that wants me to do things I’m sure I’ll have time for later doesn’t make sense.

At any rate, my love came home not too long after and we all conversed for a while before Neolla had to go home.

 

27 June 1616

I thought more on what Mariek said today. Despite Neolla’s eye rolling, I think Mariek may be right. I didn’t feel all that embarrassed today and I think that enjoying this isn’t wrong because things that are good are designed to be enjoyed. And though I’m sure most of my friends wouldn’t know, I think I believe that I’m not wrong for taking pleasure in my marriage.

 

30 June 1616

I’ve been sleeping so well since getting married. I always thought I’d sleep better next to him, and I was right. It’s incredibly comforting to lie down with my head on his chest and hear his heartbeat. He puts one arm around me and it just feels so safe like I’ve never felt before. He seems to like playing with my hair, because I always feel him gently twirling locks of it and combing out the knots while I start to drift, even though he’s always asleep before I am. I usually tuck one of my arms under my side and rest the other next to my head. It just feels warm and safe and everything I wish for. I hope he feels the same way, because the best thing about being married to him is when I see him happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I drew a rough map of the town and the surrounding area and if anyone wants to see it I could scan it in.


	29. A Good Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Logic consequences come into play and Simonn's uncle is kind of an asshole

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is so late! I had a convention, then I was out of town at a family reunion. 
> 
> The next chapter should be up by next Friday

4 July 1616

I think I’ve caught a summer cold. I’ve been so tired recently, and feeling ill in general. It’s been making work a real pain, but I’ll just take some of Dolora’s herbs and it’ll pass. 

 

8 July 1616

Simonn was sad today (I could tell), because of everything with his family of course, so I said, “Hey, Simonn. Five things you like about yourself.” 

“Nothing to like.”

“No, sorry, try again. Five things.” 

“Fine. Five. Uh…I like that I’m smart. I’m a quick thinker. I’m good at taking care of my family. I can take care of people in general…and I’m…how many is that?”

“Three.” (Little white lie.)

“I’m resilient. And I’m loving.”

“See, there is plenty to like.”

“Your turn.”

“Ugh.” It’s a hard game to play. 

“Five things, Deedee!”

“Fine. I’m smart. I have a family. Um…I’m kind. I’m determined. I…I like myself.”

“You like that you like yourself?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Hm…” he said. “Clever.”

“Clever?”

“Positive loop.”

“Yeah.” 

He sighed one of those heavy sighs and I walked over to where he was sitting on the couch and hugged him tight. He practically melted and he just hung there in my arms for a very long time. I think he needed to not carry all that weight for a little while. I patted his back and said, “It’s okay, Simonn. It’ll be okay.”

“No, it’s not, it’s not okay, my parents and sister are dying…” 

“It’s not okay. But someday it will be.”

“It won’t!”

“Yes, it will. I promise. It wasn’t okay when I lived with my mother, and for a long time after…after a lot of things it wasn’t okay. But it’s always okay in the end. I swear it.”

He shrugged and I just hugged him closer. My poor best friend. 

Sigmun eventually came home and I mouthed at him to make tea. He nodded and made tea and Simonn calmed down a bit before he left. The world isn’t kind to him. I hope I can be. 

 

14 July 1616

Today was Sigmun’s twenty-first birthday. Dolora gave him a watch, a nice one she must’ve been saving money for for quite a while. It’s a very nice pocket watch and he doesn’t look like he did when we were little and he tried to look grown-up by borrowing Dolora’s watch, which I think it would be mean to bring up now. (Not that I won’t.) It’s harder to keep presents secret what with us living in the same house, so I embroidered his coat while he wasn’t looking under the guise of doing laundry and also bought him a book on great leaders in history and why they were successful. I might read it when he’s done. 

I really enjoy cooking with Dolora. There’s something very cozy about working in the kitchen with my real mother when the house smells like bread and stew. I like even more cooking with the both of them, all warm and fun and sweet. When Dolora’s out of the kitchen, if I’m standing by the stove he’ll stand behind me and wrap his arms around my waist and rest his chin on my shoulder, or my head if he stands on tiptoe. It’s very comforting. 

The cake was delicious. 

 

21 July 1616

That damn cold is back after letting up for a few days. I vomited this morning and again this afternoon, but at least I don’t have a fever. I don’t think. 

Sigmun is concerned, but I told him not to worry. I don’t remember who said it, but “this too shall pass.”

 

23 July 1616

I revise my earlier assessment that “this too shall pass.” I need to find one of those books from medical schools. 

 

30 July 1616

There was a new girl at work today named Catherine. She seemed nice, if not the cleverest. She sat next to me and did Etta’s old job and even though we didn’t speak all that much, I felt like maybe she could be my friend. 

 

1 August 1616

Isabella died today. Simonn was shaking all over again with sobs, he could barely carry her little coffin to the cemetery. Sigmun and Dolora and I went to his house after to take care of things, cooking and cleaning and all that. I hugged Simonn for a long, long time, just comforting him as best as I could. I’m going to go over there after work tomorrow to cook supper. I think I’ll just do that this week, until they don’t need me anymore. 

Simonn said he’s got an uncle (the one who’s a bachelor) who’s going to come here to help take care of things. He’ll be here in a few weeks. 

Sigmun’s been red-eyed since the funeral and I’ve been crying, too. It’s just so sad and it hurts how quickly lives end and I liked Isabella, even though I only met her a few times. I just…I think I’ll miss her. 

 

5 August 1616

The “cold” hasn’t passed. I think I’m right. It’s hard to tell for sure, but it seems likely I’m pregnant. The symptoms match the ones in every book I’ve checked and it would make sense. But I don’t know if I should tell Sigmun, or Simonn, or my other friends yet. (I’m sure Dolora already knows.) The books say the first third (trimester, they call it) is the riskiest, and my best guess is that it’s been a little less than two months. I might wait a little, in case I lose it. 

The idea is terrifying. Miscarrying could really hurt and I want a baby. I want this baby. I better be careful with my bodice so I don’t accidentally tie it too tight. 

 

9 August 1616

Dolora asked me about it today. “Dianna dear, you’ve been sick a lot. Are you feeling alright?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Dear, I’ve known you since you were small enough to hug me around my knees.”

“Well…” What did I have to lose? “I think I’m pregnant.”

She smiled and hugged me. “That’s wonderful, dear!”

I smiled back, a bit shaky. 

“Do you not want the child?” Dolora asked. “There are herbs, dear--”

“No, I do. I just…I’m afraid to lose it.”

She hugged me again and patted my back. “Don’t worry, my dear. What happens, happens.” She paused. “Have you told Sigmun?” 

“No, not yet.”

“Well, it’s up to you. I won’t tell anyone before you do.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“But I would advise telling him. It’s good to have someone to help you out when it gets difficult.”

I nodded. “I just don’t want to disappoint everyone if something happens.”

“Dear, you don’t have to worry about disappointing others.” 

I shrugged. “I suppose.”

“Well, don’t forget to eat well and drink plenty of water. And you ought to tie your bodice looser, to be on the safe side.”

“I will.”

“Then I best start supper. Take things as slowly and easily as you can, alright, dear?”

“Alright.”

Maybe I should tell Sigmun. He’d probably be kind about how unpleasant this it. Dolora says the second trimester is much better than the first, but then I’ll start showing and there’ll be talk again. I hate being talked about, but everyone gets talked about at some point around here. At least it’s nice talk. 

 

13 August 1616

I finally told him today. I don’t know why I worked myself up so much for something I knew would go well. 

“Sigmun?” I asked when it was after dinner and we were both reading in our room. 

“Hm?”

“I need to tell you something.”

“Sure,” he said, putting down his book (the one I bought him). 

“Well…you know I’ve been feeling ill.”

“Yes…”

I bit my lip and then says all in a rush, “I think I’m pregnant.”

“That’s great!” He grinned and hugged me. “How far along?”

“I think about two months, but I’m not really sure. No longer than two months, certainly.” 

He kissed me then, all tenderness and soft touches, and I think I smiled as best as I could. I like touching him and I like when he touches me. I wonder if he likes touching me as much. 

Anyways, I was about to unbutton his shirt when he pulled away, and so I made a face at him, and he said. “You sure this is safe?”

“Yes.” 

“Really, though. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Do you want to ask Dolora?”

He blushed at that and said, “No, do you?”

“The books all say it’s alright. And it’s been at least a month, we’d have noticed something by now.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Unless you don’t want to?”

“I just don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m fine. Promise.”

“Then as long as you want to…”

“I do.”

And that was that. 

 

15 August 1616

Simonn’s uncle arrived today. He’s an ill-tempered sort, but I think perhaps he’s grumpy from the traveling. Simonn says he got a lecture about how come he wasn’t married yet, didn’t he want to live on his own with his own family, and why hadn’t he been doing hard work, you academic types, and so on. Simonn tried to defend himself (I mean, his parents and sister were ill, he had things to do!), but his uncle wouldn’t listen. But Simonn says it’s alright, at least there’s another adult around. At least he’s not going at it alone. 

 

17 August 1616

Simonn knocked on Dolora’s door today with a pack of his clothes and his copy of Principia and a few other odds and ends. 

“My uncle kicked me out.”

“What?” I asked. How could Simonn be kicked out of his own house? 

“He said I had to get a job and support myself, I’m twenty-one years old gosh darn it!”

“Well, come in.”

“Thanks.”

“Here, let me take that. The guest room is upstairs.”

“You sure Dolora’s alright with this?”

“Of course. As long as you don’t mind sharing a house with a twenty-four hour doctor and a married couple that includes a pregnant lady.”

“What?”

I blushed. “Nothing.”

“You’re pregnant?” 

I blushed harder. “Yes.”

“Congrats, Deedee,” he said with one of those crooked smiles of his. “Two months?”

“Pretty sure,” I said. “No longer than that.”

“Bet it’ll be cure. Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” 

“How could I?” 

“Well, I don’t know. I always knew if my siblings would be boys or girls. I was right for all of them, no matter what. Even Isabella.”

“You’re a psychic or something, I swear.”

“I am not!”

“Never mind. I don’t know if it’ll be a boy or a girl. If you happen to, feel free to tell me.”

“I will.” 

“Thanks.” 

I heard Simonn crying again, so I left a cup of tea outside to door in case he wanted it. I saw him washing the cup after supper, so I suppose he took it. I’m worried about him. 

 

22 August 1616

Today was my twenty-first birthday. It was an alright day, I guess, but it was absolutely boiling out and I was just so tired. I can’t decide if the exhaustion or the mood swings are worse. I think they make each other worse. I asked Dolora and she said the mood swings are normal, if unpleasant. She said--no one would ever guess--eating the right foods and drinking plenty of water and sleeping well are the best treatment. And I’ve been drinking boiled water to be safe. At least, Dolora’s been insisting I drink boiled water. I swear she worries more than I do, and I’m the one who’s going to be giving birth! 

We all sat down for dinner, which doesn’t always happen since Simonn has his siblings to talk with and walk to school and his uncle to argue with and work, and Sigmun has work and errands, and Dolora has herbs to find and garden to maintain and her work, and I have work and hunting and errands. Dolora made my favorite stew, which was very nice of her, even though I had some trouble stomaching it. Money is tight right now, because Sigmun’s pay was cut, but Dolora sewed me clothes I’ll be able to wear with a pregnant belly and Simonn gave me this woven little trinket he said was for luck, and Sigmun gave me an empty journal and a wink (my silly husband). 

I realize I didn’t note my last change of journal, in April 1615. But now I’m on my third journal. I ought to label them. And I forgot to write about the pictures! (Simonn draws one every November, of course.) I’m getting as bad as Simonn. 

 

6 September 1616

Being pregnant is not at all fun. I suspected it wouldn’t be, but this is just miserable. I’m always sick and tired and Sigmun’s sweet about it, but I don’t want to be any trouble. I remember thinking he’d be a loving husband once upon a time, and I suppose I was right. 

 

13 September 1616

I was sick today and I had to stay home from work. I had a headache and a backache like usual and I was exhausted. I only vomited once, but I felt nauseous enough that I didn’t want to risk Pamela’s wrath. So I stayed home and started sewing a new cloak to replace my old one, which is getting old.

 

18 September 1616

At work today, Catherine and Susan and I were talking about our lives and Catherine mentioned men who harass her in the streets.

“I hate it. It’s awful.”

“I know,” I agreed. “It happens to me all the time.”

“But you’ve got your handsome man to protect you,” Catherine teased.

“Catherine!” I protested.

“It’s true. You’re always walking around with him, and if you have someone with you, they usually leave you alone.”

“It’s as much for his protection as mine.”

“Why?”

“He’s…never mind.”

“What could a man possibly be that would make people be like that him?”

“He’s illegitimate.”

“Wow. You must really love him.” Catherine sounded fairly impressed.

“I do. Anyways, I don’t see why it should matter if someone’s parents are married or not. It’s not exactly the child’s choice.”

Johanna joined the conversation. “What’re you talking about?”

“My husband,” I said.

“Oh, right. Him. Bit useless, isn’t he? Who even wears the pants in your marriage?”

“I wear skirts usually, so I suppose he does.”

She glared at me and said. “You really are as moronic as I thought.” 

“Well, we split the work and chores and everything, if that’s what you meant.”

“Hmph. When I’m married, you won’t see me working here.”

“I certainly hope so,” I shot back. “With any luck you’ll find someone willing to marry you soon.”

“I’m surprised you found anyone to marry you. Everyone knows you were already pregnant when you got married.”

“You know, I think I would’ve noticed that.”

“Liar.”

“It’s pretty hard to miss being pregnant.” Well, not entirely, but it’s hard to miss it altogether. 

Johanna rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “You’re one to talk.”

“Maybe I am. Either way, I have more important things to do. See you tomorrow,” I said shortly. I know I’m not nice to her, but she just gets on my last nerve! I’m torn between wanting to keep the peace and the vindictive pleasure of watching her face when I say something like that. 

I’m acting like a child, but so is she. I know I should be the bigger person like Dolora always said when we were little, but it is hard when the other person is such a pain. 

 

24 September 1616

It’s so nice, sleeping next to him. I love the sound of his heartbeat and I love how he plays with my hair sort of like he’s not really thinking about it, like he just likes the feel of my hair. I like the texture of his skin and the gentle pressure of being pressed so close to him. Sometimes, one of his hands drifts to my chest and I really don’t mind; it’s quite nice, though it does make it a bit harder to fall asleep. Or sometimes I lie on my side and he lies behind me and he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close to him. Sometimes I can’t sleep because I’m too warm and I have to disentangle myself from him, because he’s a very heavy sleeper, and sprawl out on one side of the bed. Or at least take off the covers. Sometimes, when I’ve had a nightmare, I fall asleep like I used to, covering my face and curled up on my side. He asked me about it.

“Why do you sleep like that?”

“Like what?”

“All curled up, with your arms in front of you face, like you’re defending yourself.”

“Well…probably because, when I was really little, my mother would go to bed after me, and sometimes she’d drink just too much and…and burst into my room and I’d be asleep and she’d…she’d be all upset, calling me some name I’m not, and sometimes…she’d hit me. I slept to protect my face. I guess I never really stopped…you take up a lot of space when you sleep.”

“You thrash around like you’re going to accidentally slap me.”

“You snore.”

“You moan in your sleep.”

“You moan when you’re awake,” I teased. He blushed.

“So do you.”

“You have dreams about the future.”

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

He kissed me on the lips and said, “No, I love you more.”

“You’re silly.”

“That’s why you married me.”

I laughed and kissed him again, because I love him so much and because I’m just happy with my life right now, something I plan never to give up.

The pregnancy symptoms have been letting up as of late, thank heaven. 

 

8 October 1616

I woke up from a nightmare last night and his arms were around me and the nightmare was about being trapped in a birdcage while everyone I’ve ever known taunted me and I couldn’t move, so, naturally, I panicked and started thrashing around like I do when I wake up from nightmares.

“What the hell?!” he shouted.

“Oh my goodness, oh my—”

“Dianna? Are you…okay?”

“What—what? I’m—I think I’m fine…”

“Sorry, but…what the hell was that?”

“I had a nightmare…about being trapped. In a birdcage. I woke up, and your arms were around me…”

“Jeez, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It was just…” I shook my head and then rested it on his chest again. “Oh, never mind.”

“You sure?”

“Very.” I closed my eyes and felt him rest one arm around me while I shoved my hair behind my ear again. Him holding me is such a contrast to being trapped that I wanted it, I wanted him to wrap his arms around me like he does.

“Goodnight, love,” he said, all quiet like I was already asleep.

“Goodnight, darling.”

 

12 October 1616

When we were reading after dinner, somehow we happened upon the subject of dreams and Sigmun mentioned one of his weird dreams. 

“I had one of those dreams last night…”

“What was it?”

“I think they must be thousands of years in the future.”

“What happened?”

“It was just…life. You and me, we lived in this house with all these strange boxes, one that kept things cool and one that heated things up, cooked them, and one that had moving pictures on it. And you didn’t wear long skirts or a bodice or anything, you and I both wore trousers…and we had children, four of them, two daughters and two sons, and they went to school, it was the law that boys and girls had to go to school…You and I, we worked at university, as professors, and you wrote books in this lovely sun room…Mama lived just across town, and Simonn and Hannah lived together a couple streets over and Simonn worked at a university called North something, or maybe South something…It was so nice.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“It was. I wish it was real…children didn’t die so often. Women and people with dark skin and illegitimate children had it a bit better. Not properly equal, but…a bit better.”

“Better than nothing.”

He sighed and flopped back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. I rested my head on his chest like I do, listening to his heartbeat.

“It’s Sunday,” I commented.

“Thank heaven,” he said, absentmindedly stroking my hair. “I don’t want to get up.”

“That’s a first.” I grinned and kissed him on the cheek. He caught my face and kissed my lips with that passion I can’t get enough of and I was glad I had nothing to do for once. All I had to do was lie there with my love and be happy.

 

17 October 1616

Today we were lying in bed after dinner with a book and I guess he’d had a long day, because he rested his head on my shoulder and he drifted off and his drooped to my chest.

“Sigmun. Sigmun?”

“Your chest is soft…”

I’m sure I gave him a strange look.

“Siggy?”

“Oh my gosh, did I say that out loud?”

“Yes, you very much did.”

“I…jeez…” He blushed violently and he looked about ready to die. “I’m sorry. I just…you’re very pretty. And soft. And…I’m screwing this up…”

“No, it’s alright.”

He blushed even harder and rested his head on my chest again. “Do you mind? Only, I’m really tired.”

“Not at all.” I threaded my fingers through his soft, lovely hair, and rubbed his back gently. “It’s alright, my love. Everything’s okay.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seem stressed.”

“I guess I am.” He sighed and drooped further until he was like a rag doll. “It’s just, my job and my coworkers and you all…”

“What?”

“I don’t know…” He sounded half asleep as he relaxed against me. It’s nice, the way he trusts me so completely.

“Get some sleep, my darling. Everything will be just fine in the morning.”

He nodded and I moved him off my shoulder to lie down with his head on his pillow and he looks so nice when he sleeps, so calm and peaceful. He breathed slowly and quietly and he was lying on his back with his hands tucked under his chin like there’s something he’s forgotten he’s not holding anymore. I wonder if Dolora made him a toy when he was younger that he used to hold.

I ought to go the bed soon. When I sleep next to him, he moves his arms to wrap around me like he’s worried about losing me, and he sometimes nuzzles his face in my hair and sometimes I wake up with his arms completely wrapped around me and his face right next to my own. I like a lot of things about being married, and not sleeping alone is certainly one of them.

 

21 October 1616

Sigmun woke me up at some late hour and he had the strangest nightmare.

“Dianna?”

“Hm?”

“You awake?”

“I am now.”

“…I had a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“I…jeez. I dreamed…d’you remember the ten plagues?”

“From the Bible? I do.”

“I dreamed about them happening here. I dreamed about locusts and darkness and then it was the first sons and Simonn and I died and…we had a baby, and he was a boy, and he died too…It was hell on Earth.”

“Oh, darling, that sounds awful. But it’s not real. That’s not going to happen. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks, love.”

“Any time.” I kissed him as tenderly as I could manage and hugged him as two little sobs escaped him. “If we have a baby boy, we’ll take care of him,” I added. “He’ll be just fine.”

“Thanks, Dianna. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We fell back asleep, arms still around each other. I still love resting my head on his chest and hearing that steady, calm heartbeat.

 

26 October 1616

David was irritating me again at work.

“Want to go for a drink?”

“No thanks.”

“Are you sure?”

“Very much so.”

“Oh, come on, you know you can’t resist me.”

“I’m married!” I snapped.

“Marriage is flexible.”

“I don’t want to go for a drink with you!”

“Why not?”

“Because you’re irritating and harassing me!”

“Harassing? Someone’s a bit sensitive.”

“No, I’m not. Please leave me alone.”

“C’mon, sugar—” he started. He was interrupted by my love coming in to meet me. He usually meets me at work once a week for errands, and this was one of those days.

“Hi, love,” he said, taking my hand. “Shall we go?”

“Let’s,” I said. We ran errands for a bit, like always, and I hope David won’t bother me after this. 

 

28 October 1616

I guess Sigmun could tell I’d had a bad night because this morning he woke me up and said, “Are those diamonds real?”

“You should know, you bought them for me.”

“No, I was talking about the ones in your eyes.”

I laughed and said, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Wake me up with one of those lines. We’re already married.”

“To cheer you up. And you laugh at them, and that cheers up my morning, too.”

“Thanks, love.”

“You’re welcome. Now come on, it’s a lovely day.”

“No it’s not.”

“It is!”

“It’s raining.”

“Rain is lovely, too.”

“I don’t care.” My pregnancy has made it even harder to get out of bed in the mornings. I don’t know if it’s just because I hate getting up and Dolora says being pregnant makes irritating things more irritating, or if it’s because apparently being pregnant makes you really damn tired sometimes. 

 

31 October 1616

My first All Hallow’s as a “respectable married woman”. Usually there’s a group of women who stand together because they’re too pregnant to dance and I was torn between being careful and dancing with my friends. But then Sigmun took my hands and spun me around and really, I love dancing at the festivals. It wasn’t quite as easy as it used to be, feet and arms moving right in time to the fiddler’s music, but fantastically fun nonetheless. Simonn didn’t trip once, or step on my feet, when I danced with him, which considering how tall her is and how short I am is quite impressive. 

Catherine was there, too, and she said our village did festivals well. She danced with some of the unmarried men and I think she does want to find a husband. Or at least would rather have one than not. There are certainly advantages to being married! (Most of which I would never bring up in public, but still.) 

Sigmun and I danced long enough for my feet to get sore and then we stood to the side of the dancing and watched the other dancers swirl in time to the music. It’s beautiful, watching other people dance. Like some huge clockworks, each person having a place and a part in the swirling machine. Except it seems to me that a person can choose what part they are. 

Though I do believe these is value in choosing the be the face of the clock, it can be very comforting to shrink back and just be another gear in the clock, watching the pendulum swing.


	30. Birth and Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not all good, not all bad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't want spoilers, don't read the tags. I really don't know how important this one might be in relation to the reader, so I guess better safe than sorry
> 
> Miscarriage and grief in this chapter.

1 November 1616

I chatted with the other pregnant women today and most of them were kind and understanding, even the ones younger than I am. There was an older woman, Mrs. Jayfield, who said we were much too young to really understand, all bitter and angry. The other older women were all kind and offered advice. But. Mrs. Jayfield seemed angry with us younger women, like we’d done something wrong. I don’t know Mrs. Jayfield all that well, but I suspect there’s something sad she’d never speak of. 

I mostly spent the day with my friends, though. Mariek nodded her sympathy at me, I suppose silently acknowledging that she understood how the early part feels. I realized I was showing a little today, too. Not much, but a little. I’m sure the whole village knows by now. We trade gossip like playing cards in the village (though I usually don’t write it down), so as soon as someone like Mrs. Knox knows, everyone will know. 

I didn’t dance much today because I was tired and my feet hurt. I think my feet might be swelling a little bit. Dolora says that happens sometimes. 

It seems this baby and this pregnancy is all I can think about sometimes. It’s just so worrisome, so stressful. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want my children to die. I don’t want to have a stillborn, and I do not want to die. I’m scared to die. 

Most women write their wills around this time. I might not. I have faith in Dolora’s ability to heal. 

The only other thing worth noting about today is the beautiful way the sun set and the leaves fell and the people lived. It was just so wonderful to see the world at peace for a day. It’s indescribable, feeling the whole world be peaceful and calm. It’s this feeling of safety and coziness and homeyness. I feel like even though this is a town that hasn’t always loved me, this place is where I belong right now. Maybe it won’t be forever that here is my place, and I’m sure that sounds like some sort of spiritual bogus, but I think for once I really belong right here. 

 

2 November 1616

Today while I was sewing the buttonholes for the men’s shirts I felt something in my belly and I nearly stabbed myself through the finger with a needle. I gasped and pitched forward, and Catherine noticed. 

“Dianna? What is it?”

“I…I think I felt the baby kick.” 

“Really?”

I nodded. It felt all fluttery, like being nervous, except…different, somehow. I could just tell it was the baby. I’m so glad to know things are going normally. Just a few more months left. 

 

7 November 1616

Simonn drew us all today, Hannah too. He had Dolora sit in her chair, Sigmun and I stand to one side, and Hannah to the other. Sigmun put his arm around my shoulders because he is taller than me and I put mine around his waist. Simonn drew himself posed quite similarly with Hannah. I noticed he drew in the little swell of my belly and when Simonn saw me looking, he said, “I draw exactly what I see.”

“I don’t mind,” I said. “I’m just not used to it.”

He nodded. “Well, you won’t have to be used to it for too long.”

“Guess not,” I said. Only four months to go. 

 

8 November 1616

I keep feeling the baby kicking and it’s not quite as startling, unless I’m not expecting it. I told Dolora and she said that was perfectly fine, right on schedule in fact. Sigmun was all excited like he is, because he’s sweet and he says he wants children. The only irritating thing is that sometimes it makes it hard to sleep because it’s distracting. 

I wonder if it’s a girl or a boy. Dolora says there’s no real way to know, but sometimes women have a gut feeling that’s right. I think it was Mrs. Tailor who said there’s some trick with barely, but apparently that’s just a story. 

 

13 November 1616

Today was a pretty good day, considering how the past few months have been (that is to say, hellish). Dolora warned me it starts getting worse again towards the end, when you start showing more and the baby gets big. She says it gets hard to do things like sewing and cooking towards the end. I’m not looking forward to it. 

Sigmun’s been sweet about it, though. He’s been insisting upon doing some of my chores and he’s been very cuddly lately. Well, he’s always cuddly, but he’s been especially sweet and gentle. He’s comfortable to cuddle with and it does help relieve some of the more unpleasant parts of this pregnancy. 

 

18 November 1616

I’m so happy! I just keep remembering that I’m going to have a baby and every time, I want to laugh aloud. The little bump on my stomach is growing and it’s exhilarating. Sometimes I feel kicking and I can’t stop remembering that this is my child! I haven’t felt the kicking in a couple of days, but I’m sure it’s just something that comes and goes. Dolora said every pregnancy is different and not to worry too much. Of all people to trust, I trust her. 

 

19 November 1616

I didn’t think it was possible, but I guess I was wrong. No, I was wrong, out-and-out wrong. Why give me hope that I could carry children, that I was going to bear a child, only to have it snatched from my hands with the anger of a king fighting his wars? I loved that child and yet it was taken from my grasp, leaving me hopeless and wondering what I’ve done to deserve this.

The bleeding started today when I got home from work. I was making tea when I felt a strange sort of pain in my stomach and I doubled over, dropping the teacup. Luckily it wasn’t one of the good ones. I started to panic because I’m not stupid, I know it takes nine months for a child to be ready to be born and it had been almost five (by my and Dolora’s best guess). I felt my breathing speed up and I was anxious because what was happening? I have no idea what childbirth feels like. I felt all my muscles cramping and I realized I needed help.

“Dolora?”

“What is it, Dianna dear?”

“What’s happening?”

“What do you mean?” I heard her walking and I supposed Sigmun and Simonn weren’t home yet.

“I…I don’t know. It just hurts, a lot. A lot…”

“You’re worrying me, Dianna. Are you alright?” I heard her footsteps creaking through the kitchen. I looked down and I saw blood and I panicked.

“Dolora! I’m bleeding! And it’s getting worse and…ow!” I was breathing too fast and I knew it, but I couldn’t stop.

“Dianna!” Dolora burst into the kitchen and ran over to where I was standing just as I collapsed on the floor. I curled up and I was breathing much, much too fast and I panted, “What’s happening? What’s happening?”

“It’s alright, Dianna dear. You’ll be alright. Just stay calm,” Dolora said. I could hear her worrying. “It’s just…well…it’s just…”

“Am I losing it? Am I losing my baby?”

She sighed. “Yes, dear. But you’ll be okay. Just stay calm and once it’s all done, I’ll fix you up. You’ll be fine.”

“Dolora, I’m bleeding, what do I do? What do I do?”

“Just stay calm, Dianna. Take deep breaths. It’ll be over soon.”

I started crying and there was blood, I could feel it all over my legs, all warm and sticky and awful. There was more pain in my belly and Dolora was hugging me, and she was trying to be comforting, but nothing could’ve comforted me.

I heard the front door open and shut and Sigmun call, “I’m home!”

“Get the herbs, Sigmun,” Dolora ordered.

“What?”

“You heard me, get all my herbs! And water!”

“Is everything alright?” I heard him open the cabinet and take out all her herbs. “Who’s crying? Dianna, why are you crying?”

“Sigmun!”

“Coming.” He walked into the kitchen and there I was, bleeding and sobbing, and he ran over to me and I felt his arms cradling me. “Dianna? Love, what’s wrong?”

“She’s losing the child, Sigmun. Stay here. If she loses consciousness, wake her up, whatever it takes. Understand?” Dolora was using that tone she has when she does this medical sort of work. “I’ll mix something up. I’ve seen it before.”

I felt his head nod and he started talking to me with those words of comfort again, but I couldn’t stop sobbing. I have no idea how long it was that I lied there, but the pains in my stomach eventually cut off and it was just me and Sigmun and our dead child.

“Drink this, Dianna dear,” Dolora said. “It’ll help the pain.” I saw the ache in her eyes and I knew she understood how this felt.

“Are you okay?” Sigmun asked, his eyes full of concern. “Are you alright?”

I shook my head and he hugged me tighter. I took the cup Dolora handed me and choked down whatever combination of herbs she’d given me.

“It should help with the blood loss, too,” Dolora said.

“What’s wrong with me?” I asked.

“Nothing. Why would you say that?”

“I lost the baby!”

“Plenty of women lose their babies, Dianna dear. You can still have children; you just got unlucky this time. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m the midwife, Dianna dear. Of course I’m sure.” She stood up (she’d been crouched next to me) and turned to Sigmun. “Help her to bed.” She addressed me again. “Take this and don’t fall asleep for the next eight hours or so. And don’t go to work for a few days, alright? You’ve lost a lot of blood. You were just very unlucky. But you’ll be just fine. Rest in bed for at least a day and I’ll have a few more medicines for you.”

I nodded and Sigmun helped me up. I put one arm around his shoulders and he supported my waist to help me to our room. I saw Dolora sigh and sit down in one of the chairs, looking out the window like the world was hers to carry.

“It’s alright, love,” Sigmun said. Once I was in my nightdress in bed, he stayed with me, stroking my hair and holding my hand. “It’s okay.” He rested one hand on my cheek and wiped off the tears there. “What happened, love?”

“I…I don’t know,” I told him. I don’t. “I was just making tea and all of a sudden I was bleeding and cramping and there was just so much blood, everywhere, so I called for Dolora and she told me I was losing the child…I’m sorry.”

“What on Earth are you sorry for?”

“I lost our child. I lost it…”

“That’s not your fault, Dianna. That’s not your fault! There’s nothing to apologize for. Nothing at all.”

I tried to smile and failed. “Why would it be your fault?” he asked.

“Because I was the one carrying the baby! I must’ve done something wrong or it wouldn’t have happened.”

“No! That’s not it!” He sat right next to me and made sure he was looking me in the eye the way he does. “I grew up with Mama telling me about her job and nothing anyone ever did ever stopped something like this happening. There was nothing you could’ve done and there is nothing at all about this that’s your fault. I’d never, ever blame you for it, either.”

“Thanks, love.”

“You’re welcome.”

I managed a proper smile at that and I kissed him because he was just so kind. “You’re the best, Sigmun.”

“I think that title goes to you.”

“Oh, come on.”

“You’re my summertime beauty,” he half-teased. I heard the front door open and close again. “That’ll be Simonn. Do you want me to tell him?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Anything I can do for you?”

“Can you hand me my journal and pen?”

“I…sure.” He sounded a bit confused and I guess it’s because I don’t talk about my journal and I’ve never called it that. “This?”

“That.”

He handed me the journal and went downstairs and I can hear him and Simonn talking. I’d tell Simonn myself, but I feel weak and dizzy and I have a feeling I wouldn’t be able to walk if I stood up right now.

Oh, Simonn just dropped something. I suppose it is rather a shock. I wish I were dreaming right now. I wish I’d wake up because I felt my child kicking or because it’s morning and I’m off to work and I’m still carrying my child. What have I do to deserve this? What have I done wrong? Is it because of all my disagreements with Mother when I was young? Is that what I did? I know what Dolora and Sigmun said, but I also know I must’ve done something to deserve this.

I don’t think I’ll have dinner tonight.

 

20 November 1616

I was going to go to work today, but Dolora basically ordered me to stay home and “get back to bed! What on Earth do you think you’re doing? You’ve just had a miscarriage and lost a lot of blood, do you think you’re really going to work? Not a chance, Dianna dear.” (I’m serious.)

So I ended up spending all day in bed, reading one of the romance books. I made sure not to pick one of the ones with children because I miss the child I didn’t have. I know it’s silly, as I never even knew that baby, but I miss it. I’m sad for the little girl or boy I couldn’t seem to carry. My poor child…

I’ll go to work tomorrow. I don’t want to think about this anymore and I think the best way to do so would be to drown my thoughts with the mindless stitching that occupies most of my time.

 

20 November, later

Dolora just gave me more herbs and a very stern list of things I should not do. Apparently, I should not do anything strenuous for a week and be very careful with walking to the village and come to her right away if anything else hurts or starts bleeding. I suppose I can understand that. I just hope I can have children at all.

 

22 November 1616

I went back to work today (Dolora let me), but I felt so awful and so sad. Catherine could tell something was wrong, of course, and she would look at me questioningly whenever I glanced at her.

After work she asked me, “Dianna? What’s wrong?”

“I…” I didn’t want to say it. “I’m…I’m not pregnant anymore.”

“Oh.”

I nodded and pressed my lips together tightly. “Dolora says it’s not my last chance for children.”

“That’s good. How is Miss Maryam?”

“She’s fine. So’s everyone else at my home. You?”

“My aunt’s alright. My uncle’s tired.”

“Want something from Dolora? She’s got tonics for stress.”

“No it’s fine. Don’t think we can afford it.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“See you, then.”

“Bye!” Catherine waved and walked home, her blue skirt twirling with her. She’s an excellent seamstress.

I’m still so sad I think I can’t breathe. But at heart, at least I’m not alone. My love and I talk to each other every night, to stave of the sadness and heaviness. I’m more grateful for it that I could ever say.

I think I might like to try again for a baby. I’ll ask my love, of course, but I think he will, too.

I just hope I’m not infertile (that’s the word Dolora used). I’m afraid of how they’ll stare at me if I never have children.

 

25 November 1616

It wasn’t a good day today. The cramps came back a little and I was just feeling sad. So I sat on the bed and then when Sigmun came home, we just held each other for a long time. It was very comforting, to hold and be held. He and I held each other close until we had to do something, something important I’m sure but not as important as holding my love in my arms and feeling him hold me. 

Dolora assured me that “it will be alright” but I’m not sure it will be any time soon. 

The thing is, I don’t really…I don’t really understand my own sadness. I don’t know if I can call it grief, and I don’t think mourning either. But I also miss the child I never had a chance to hold. Much as I disliked showing, I miss the little swell of my belly and my arms feel empty, even though I never held my child. 

But I have my family and I have Sigmun and when we lie there all wrapped around each other, I feel at home. 

 

27 November 1616

I think I’d still like to have a baby. Dolora said in all likelihood I wouldn’t miscarry again, or at least it wouldn’t be so dramatic. She said I probably just had bad luck, or maybe ate something my body didn’t like or something like that. I talked to Sigmun today, and he agreed about having a baby. 

So we’ll try again for a baby. And I hope this time I can hold my baby this time, kiss their forehead and tell them how much I love them. 

 

30 November 1616

For some reason I felt so, so sad today. I felt sad like nothing in the world was ever happy. I think I was mourning my child. Which makes no sense, because how can you mourn someone you never knew? But I do, I miss my baby. I don’t really feel like it was my fault, I suppose, because I doubt there was anything I could’ve done, but the grief scoops out my insides and leaves me utterly empty some days. At least I have my family. At the very least, I’ll always have them. I don’t think I’d survive alone. 

 

3 December 1616

Catherine said at work today she was actually going to stay here longer than she thought (she was sent to our town when her parents passed) because her brother married and his family was living in her old house, so she’d need to stay with her aunt and uncle a bit longer. I hope she does stay. Catherine’s kind and pleasant to be around and a good friend. And it’s always nice to have a friend at work. Most of Sigmun’s coworkers aren’t kind and Simonn for the most part doesn’t talk to many people at work. (I really don’t think Simonn’s cut out for farm work, and to be honest it worries me.)

 

7 December 1616

I’d forgotten how much I love reading with Sigmun. Neither of us had work today, a rare occurrence, so after Simonn had gone to the farm and Dolora into town, we curled up in bed together and read one of the adventure novels. I love the feeling of his arm around my shoulders and my head resting on his chest so I could feel his heartbeat. I still wonder sometimes if he knows how safe and warm and loved he makes me feel, and I cannot imagine a better way to spend a rest day than curled up in my bed with my husband, surrounded by pillows and blankets and books and love. I love snuggling close to him and nuzzling his neck enough so he turns away from reading long enough to give me a long, loving kiss. I love when it’s my turn to read and he wraps his arms around my middle and rests his head against mine so he’s not really trying to make me fall in love, but he does anyways. I love when he nuzzles my neck and draws me closer so we’re pressed right up against each other. But more than any of that, I love that neither of us have an inhibitions about this sort of thing anymore. He isn’t shy about being close to me anymore. And I like that. 

 

16 December 1616

I had such a nightmare last night. In it, I woke up alone in bed and I supposed Sigmun was up, so half-expected him to say one of those silly lines I wouldn’t tell anyone else I like hearing. But he didn’t, so I went downstairs, and there was a note on the table that said that Sigmun had left me for a girl in the city named Elizabeth and he never wanted to see me again and I was just shocked in the dream, and then Simonn and Dolora said I wasn’t part of the family anymore and I had to leave but I had nowhere to go and then I woke up and it was late, probably past one, and I was terrified.

“Sigmun? Sigmun, are you there?”

“Mm…Dianna? What is it?”

“Are you there?”

“Yes…? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Just a bad dream. A bad, bad dream…”

“Want to talk about it?”

“No. No, no, no.”

“Are you alright?”

“F-Fine…” I was shaking all over. He drew me closer to him in a warm hug and kissed my forehead.

“Darling, whatever it was, it was just a dream. It’s not real. You’re perfectly safe.”

“I-I know. But I was safe then, too…sort of, anyways…”

“Well, whatever it was about, it can’t hurt you.”

“You wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No I wouldn’t. What does that have to do with this?”

“I…I had a dream that…that you left me for a pretty girl in the city and then Dolora and Simonn made me leave because I wasn’t part of the family and I had nowhere to go and…” I was shaking too hard to continue.

“Well, you’re certainly part of the family. I’d never, ever leave you. Never.”

“Even not for some prettier girl in the city?”

“Especially not for some prettier girl in the city, if such a girl even existed.”

“Thanks, love.”

“You’re welcome.” He kissed me on the lips and hugged me closer and I just felt better because I hardly ever tell anyone my nightmares and he was just so kind about it. I guess it was my mind finding my worst fears and throwing them back at me. The idea of being alone, of losing my family, terrifies me more than just about anything else. I just don’t think I could stand being alone. 

 

20 December 1616

He had a nightmare last night, for once. He woke me up and I could tell he’d been crying. He was visibly shaking, and I was worried he might have a fever or something, so I was about to get Dolora, but he said, “Don’t leave, please.”

So I didn’t, but I did ask, “What’s wrong, love?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It was one of the dreams…the ones I think are about the future. They’ve never been nightmares before. They’re usually so good. But this one…there were people flooding the streets in a city, and they were protesting something. I liked that part, I was in the crowd and I sensed it wasn’t really something that had a lot to do with me…something with women, or people with dark skin, I couldn’t really tell, but I was in the crowd and I was shouting but then…” He swallowed harshly, like there was something stuck in his throat. “Then there were people dressed in blue and they were beating people, just hitting them over and over like it was nothing, and angry dogs, and this horrible stuff that burned you all over if it got on your face, and this gas that made you scream in pain and go blind, and I think…waterfalls, the kind that people get hurt from standing under, and there was so much blood, and people were dying, and I’m pretty sure someone shoved me into something that was either the road or a building, and I hit my head, and then I woke up.” 

“You’re sure this was a future dream? It sounds so much more like one of Simonn’s nightmares.”

“I’m sure. The buildings were miles tall, and the streets were this weird color of gray, and everything was shiny, and…I have never seen so many people in my life as I saw in the streets.” 

“Were you alone?”

He paused, then shook his head. “Come to think of it, I am dead certain you and Simonn and Mama were with me. We were all shouting.” 

“Even in your worst dreams, you’ll never be alone,” I said, stroking his hair. “As long as I have anything to say about it.” 

“Thanks.”

“I bet all that shouting changed things, too,” I said. “I bet whatever it was all those people were fighting for, they got. I mean, if there are as many as you say, a few people dressed in blue would never be able to get everyone.”

“I hope so.”

“Maybe you’ll dream about that someday.”

“That would be wonderful,” he said. “I’d like to think they got what they--we wanted. I mean, I really wanted whatever it was. It was really important to me. I think it was important to all of you, too. It was hard to tell, because I was in my own head, but I think you all wanted it, too.” 

“We must’ve, if we were facing all those things you talked about.” 

“Yeah.” He looked so tired, like he was fifty years old instead of twenty. “I…I think I’d like to go back to sleep now.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, darling. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 

25 December 1616

Merry Christmas! It’s sad to think that today would’ve been my baby’s first Christmas, but I guess it just wasn’t meant to be. Dolora said things happen sometimes, and that the baby was probably very sick already or something similar. I guess I’d rather miscarry than lose a baby as an infant, after I’ve held them and loved them. It would be terrible to lose a baby the way Simonn’s lost his siblings. It sounds horrible, I’m sure, but the idea of losing a baby as a living, breathing infant scares me even more than the idea of miscarrying again. 

The sadness was hard this morning when I woke up. It was like having a house on my chest and I almost couldn’t breathe for it. But between the sunlight and Sigmun sleeping peacefully next to me (to date the only time he’s slept later than me) and the sounds of Dolora cooking downstairs helped me feel not so lonely. I know I always get lonely when I’m sad but not being alone always helps me not feel so lonely. 

I woke Sigmun up and he made some incoherent sleep-sound and it was adorable. “What is it?”

“It’s Christmas, my love.”

“Oh.”

“Can I talk to you?”

He stretched his arms above his head and blinked that strange sleep-gook out of his eyes. “Of course.”

“I don’t feel so sad about the baby anymore. I feel like…I feel sort of like I let them go.”

He smiled at me and I leaned down to kiss him before I got out of bed to get dressed for the festival in the village. 

It was a lovely festival and Sigmun and I danced until he was tired, and then I danced with Simonn and even Patrik and Sumner, considering Patrik is not only at least a foot taller than I am but much larger than Simonn and Sumner only knows the very fast dances no one else can keep up with. I could tell Dolora was missing Rose and I wonder how wonderful Christmas in the city would be. Our village festival is lovely and all, but we’re less than a tenth the size of the city I’m sure. Their festival must be amazing!

Dinner was delicious and cooking with the rest of my family was so comforting. The whole house was warm and the windows (Dolora also has glass windows because her uncle was fairly well-off) were frosted over so beautifully. And of course we did presents. I don’t know why Dolora and Sigmun have never done presents on Boxing Day, but since my real Christmases are with them, I’ve never really asked about it. Sigmun was a very impatient child; maybe it’s that.

Anyways, I got presents for and from all my family. I got Sigmun a nice pen and a shirt made out of the nice fabric from the store, Dolora a sort of scented thing that makes a room smell good and few yards of her favorite fabric (the jade-green sort that’s almost silky), and Simonn a book by this man called Galileo who figured some things about gravity (I thought he’d like it). Sigmun gave me a Russian book (which must’ve been incredibly hard to find considering how far we are from Russia), Dolora gave me a pair of boots that were both warm and nice looking (which is almost impossible), and Simonn gave me a hat and gloves he’d knitted himself (which was very sweet). 

It really was a good Christmas. I hope they’re all like this. 

 

31 December 1616

The last day of a topsy-turvy year. I’ve gotten married, gotten pregnant, and been really, properly happy. But Simonn’s family died and I lost the baby, and I’ve been sad like I haven’t been for years. I suppose life’s like that. Things just don’t always go the way they should and I guess that’s the way life goes. But I think I’d rather live life seeing tragedies and sadnesses head-on instead of trying to pretend they aren’t there. It is so many times better to cry than to fake a smile. 

Oh, and I made some resolutions this year.  
1\. Become a better seamstress  
2\. Learn how to be a mother  
3\. Figure out how to actually stop the nightmares  
4\. Be kind to everyone I deal with/meet  
5\. Write more poems


	31. The Difference Between Sickness and Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know if I could handle that a second time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will not have a new chapter next week due to finals, but I should have one the week after.

1 January 1617

I almost wrote 1616 in the date today. It happens every year, and I was tired today (for once I don’t actually know why). But it’s a new year and a new beginning. We’re starting from the beginning once more. 

I woke up late today, so late that Dolora was making breakfast. I don’t think I’ve slept so much in so long, but I was so tired. I wonder if I’m catching a cold. What a great way to start the year. 

My darling husband was sitting at our desk reading and when I stretched to wake up, he said, “You know, I thought happiness started with an H. Why does mine start with U?”

“You’re kidding me.” 

“What?”

“That’s adorable, but you know we’re already married, right?”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t get to be romantic anymore.” 

I couldn’t help but smile. “I really love you.”

“I love you too. Shall we eat breakfast?” 

“We shall.”

It was a good rest day. I’m glad there wasn’t work today; my fingers hurt even more from sewing all those damn buttonholes in the winter. 

 

7 January 1617

At work today Catherine mentioned that she’d like to work somewhere else and I was surprised. 

“It’s not bad here, not really.”

“I suppose not,” she said. “But think about it! We could work somewhere exciting, like the city. Imagine being a seamstress there! Or--oh, you’ll think I’ve gone mad.”

“I won’t.”

“I’d like to work in the palace. I’d love to sew those grand ballgowns you see the princess wearing, with all those jewels and all that. It would be so much more fun than this.” She gestured towards the dress she was stitching, which was done off the pattern Pamela makes us use (I’m not fond of it). 

“I’d like to work at the university,” I said. “I want to study languages.”

“That would be amazing,” Catherine said. Then she giggled. “But you’d have to deal with men all day, every day!”

“That would be the downside,” I agreed. “But it would be so wonderful to work somewhere full of books in all sorts of languages. I hear they have books from places like Asia!”

“Now you sound mad,” Catherine said, laughing. “But that does sound nice.”

“How mad is it?” I asked. “My father was a trader, and he used to bring me back toys from places like that.”

“He was? What happened?”

“I…My parents were not kind people. We don’t speak anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. It’s probably for the better, actually. What sorts of dress patterns do you use normally?”

Catherine smiled when I changed the subject and it makes me sad how many people have dreams they’ll never be allowed to reach. 

 

13 January 1617

I really wasn’t feeling well at all today. I vomited again and I was feeling snappish, even though there’s nothing I’m really upset with right now, not to mention waking up with a pounding headache. I guess I should take some of Dolora’s cold medicine so I don’t miss too much work. I hate to say it, but we really need the money I make at work. 

And I need to get a new bodice. My old one must be wearing out, because it’s been hurting to tie it the way I normally do. I haven’t bothered to get a new one in a while, so I guess I’ll just get one next time I have time after work. 

 

19 January 1617

Another blizzard today. I think that’s the third this year. I swear winters just keep getting colder every year. But it’s less stressful and more fun to walk to the village with Sigmun and sometimes Simonn or Dolora, and it’s always nice to walk home with them at the end of a long day. 

 

22 January 1617

There is one advantage to winter: when it’s cold like this, I can pull all the blankets up to my chin and snuggle close to Sigmun and not feel too warm. I like being close to people. That is, I like being close to people who I love. Being close to my mother mostly meant the times she slapped me, or pinned me against the wall while I couldn’t breathe from her hands around my neck, or when I was so mad that her face seemed to take up my whole field of vision. Being close to Dolora mostly means when I’m in pain or I’m crying and she hugs me so I don’t feel so alone. Being close to Simonn mostly means sitting next to him while we read together and there’s a certain sort of warmth that reminds me that I have friends. Being close to Sigmun means a variety of things I would never write down here, but also hugs and kisses and just generally him being the kindest and most comforting person I’ve ever known. I’m just grateful I have all of them.

Anyways, today was a Sunday, so no work, so I didn’t have to get up right away. Instead, I lied there, quite content in his arms, and decided I wouldn’t wake him up. For all his enthusiasm during the week, he sleeps like a log on Sunday mornings. Which is at once endearing and slightly irritating because sometimes I have to get up Sundays and I have to spend fifteen minutes waking him up to get him to move his arm. But today, I just sighed and let him sleep.

After a while, he woke up and blinked twice. “It’s past dawn! I’m gonna be late!”

“It’s Sunday, Sigmun.”

“Oh. Right.” He closed his eyes and said, “Then why am I awake?”

“Because you woke up.”

“Ah. Yes,” he said vaguely.

“I’m not so sure you’re awake.”

“Me neither.”

“Alright,” I said, curling up closer to him. “You feel free to fall asleep again. I’ll be right here, very comfortably.”

“Why aren’t you comfortable now?”

“Your heart’s beating faster. And you’re breathing hard.”

“Oh, well, I’ll just breathe slower for you then.”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“You’re so silly.”

“That’s why you married me.”

I grinned at him and he kissed me and it was nice to rest in bed for a while before getting up to live life the way we do normally. 

 

4 February 1617

Sigmun lost his job again today. We all know why but the shoemaker said it was because the quality of his work was degrading. 

“My work is better than anyone else’s! I know how to make shoes, he just doesn’t want me working there because I don’t have parents the way everyone else does!”

“Don’t worry, dear, you’ll find something else.”

“And then they’ll just give me some other reason for why they don’t want me around. I’m sick of this! Why does it matter so much who has a proper father and who doesn’t? For that matter, why does anything matter except how you do the job? Why do we all treat each other like this?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “I wish I did.” And I do. 

He sighed and stopped pacing to sit on the bed. “I’m so sick of this.”

“Me too.”

“And it’s worse because I know somewhere there’s some poor child without a father who’s going to grow up hungry and live alone because no one cares about the illegitimates.”

“What am I, chopped liver? And what about Dolora and Simonn and the rest of us?” 

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” 

“I just wish I could change things, you know? I wish I could change the world so we’d all treat everyone just like everyone else.”

“I do know, my love.”

He sighed a world-weary sigh, like he was seventy instead of twenty-one, and rested his head on my shoulder. “It’s alright, darling. Everything’s going to be just fine.”

“I suppose.”

“Everything is always okay in the end.”

He nodded and then nodded off and I stayed up to write. 

 

9 February 1617

I suppose I’ve been looking stressed because Catherine commented on it today. 

“My husband lost his job. He wasn’t making much, but we needed that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, frowning sympathetically. 

“Thanks,” I said, and I fully intended to go back to work, but then Joanne interrupted. 

“I said he was useless, didn’t I?” she asked with this horrible tone of triumph. 

“Why do you care so much?” I snapped. “He’ll find something else. He always does.”

“You’re saying that because you want it to be true about your darling husband,” Johanna said. 

“And because it is true. Not like you’d know anything about being married, or ever will.” That might’ve been a bit mean, considering how often she talks about getting married. 

“Leave it alone, Johanna,” Catherine said. “You too, Dianna. Just get back to work, we have things to do.”

Johanna glared at me one more time and glared right back before we went back to work. 

 

16 February 1617

Simonn’s siblings were over today, and it felt strange because they’re still more like children and we’re more like adults. But Richard’s fifteen, which is plenty old enough to work, so Simonn’s been bringing him to work and he loved to talk about it. 

Simonn’s siblings don’t like his uncle, either, but they have a few years to find jobs and move out before he starts jumping down their throats. 

 

27 February 1617

I think I must have some sort of illness, more than just a cold. I was horribly sick this morning again, I barely made it to the kitchen before I vomited. And I’ve been tired, too, which doesn’t make much sense considering that I always get more sleep in the winter because the sun is down longer. I’ll talk to Dolora tomorrow. 

 

28 February 1617

Oh my goodness. I can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner. I must be pregnant again! It makes sense. It feels about the same as two months after we were married, and it would explain the snappishness and the exhaustion and the way my favorite stew tastes like mush some days. 

Two months. Maybe I’ll wait a bit before I tell everyone else. I’d bet anything Dolora will know before I tell her, but I think I might wait before I tell the rest of my family. 

 

22 March 1617

It’s a good thing I found this today. (It fell down the back of the desk like it used to at my childhood house.) Today I told Sigmun about the baby, which took so long because I’m still afraid it’ll happen again. He was just as excited as last time because he’s a sweetheart that way, but I’m still nervous. So many things could go wrong, even discounting actually giving birth. Maybe afraid is a better word for this sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, running quite contrary to the fluttery excitement that comes with the hope that the baby and I will both make it out alive. 

Either way, I hope things go well. 

Oh, and Sigmun found a job at the bakery. I hope this one lasts. 

 

4 April 1617

Dolora gave me a mixture of herbs today she said makes it easier to be pregnant sometimes. Of course she just knew. I guess the constant vomiting was a pretty clear sign. The herbs did make it easier to stomach my supper, which is always good. 

 

7 April 1617

I felt the baby kick today. I wasn’t at work, I was just reading, so at least I was alone. It’s the strangest sensation, it really is. But at least I know it’s alive. I know that for now it’s alright. 

 

10 April 1617

I’m so glad the nausea’s easing off. It was horrible before. But I’ve started to alter some of my shirts and dresses so I’m ready and I’ve just given up on my bodice for safety’s sake. The annoying part now is that walking to the village just winds me! Dolora says that happens because there’s only so much space in your body and as the baby takes up more your lungs get less. 

Actually, I’ve been having more nightmares lately. I think it’s just worry getting to me. They’re the usual nightmares, with a few about bleeding to death or something like that thrown in. I can deal with the usual nightmares. 

 

16 April 1617

It’s probably April 17 by now, but I have to write. Simonn and I just don’t fight. I mean, I don’t usually fight with Sigmun either but I can’t even remember getting mad at Simonn. 

Sigmun and I were up late (three guesses) and then I was about to go to sleep but I heard Simonn crashing into things downstairs so I guessed he was making tea. I figured he might not be doing too well because I heard him drop a pan and shout a curse so I got out of bed and put on my robe to see if he was alright. 

“Simonn?”

“What?” he snapped, slamming the kettle down on the stove.

“First off, if you break the kettle, you won’t be able to make tea. Second, are you alright?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong? Is it the nightmares?”

“Of course it is!” 

I sighed and said, “I’m sorry to ask, but did we wake you up?”

“No, but you’re also not helping. At all.”

“Sorry,” I said sarcastically. “Do you want a friend or should I just go back to bed?”

“How about you go back upstairs with your husband and make all the noise you want and I’ll just sit here miserable and lonely and you all can forget that I can never actually marry the person I love?”

“Maybe I will! If all you can do is insult me, I won’t waste my time!”

“And if all you can do is make babies, I won’t waste mine!”

Considering he doesn’t actually know I’m pregnant again yet (which I should tell him because it must be four months by now), I suppose that wasn’t intended to be quite so inflammatory. “Fine! Sit around and mope all day and night, see if I care!”

“I’m sure you won’t, not when you’re busy being--”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” I think I may have jumped to a conclusion about what he was going to say, because he usually doesn’t say things like that, but I was angry. “I’m going to go to bed and if you feel like getting over your self-pity problems and actually talking for once, feel free to come find me.”

“Go ahead! I won’t be seeing you tomorrow!”

I ignored him, tossed my head back the way I do when I’m in the market and I don’t want to talk to anyone (which is usually), and marched back upstairs. Sigmun was still asleep, which is impressive, and I just thought I’d write so I can stop fuming and get some sleep. I still do have work tomorrow. 

I hope Dolora wasn’t awake. She doesn’t get enough sleep as it is, worrying all the time. 

 

17 April 1617

I said Simonn and I don’t fight, and I guess we just don’t fight for long. 

I spent all day at work wondering how I could apologize because I guess it was half my fault and I came up with absolutely nothing. I wanted to say sorry for getting snappy and insulting him and saying things I knew would get under his skin, but I never really know how to apologize and this was no different. 

When I was sitting in the library Simonn sat next to me and I was all set to snap at him again, because I was still kind of angry, but he handed me a cup of mint tea instead. 

“Dolora said if we’re going to argue please try to stay quiet,” he said, and I felt horrible because it’s not his fault he gets nightmares like that. 

“Oh.”

“I’d rather not argue with you,” he said, like he was five years old. “So I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you, it’s not your fault I felt so awful.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you, either. I mean, it’s not your fault you have nightmares.”

“Friends?” he asked with this shy little smile, and I remembered when we were kids and he’d smile at just about everything he saw. 

“Of course,” I said. “Best friends. But if you have nightmares again, would you rather I sit with you or not?”

He shrugged and sipped his tea. “I guess I’d rather you sit with me, if you happen to be awake anyways.”

“As long as you don’t get snappish again, I’d be glad to.” 

“Thanks.”

“Any time. What are friends for?” 

He grinned again, kind of tired-looking, and I asked, “Do you want to talk about your dream?”

“I guess. It was really bizarre, though. You’ll think I’m mad.”

“If knowing you for fourteen years hasn’t made me think you’re mad, nothing will.” 

He laughed at that. “I dreamed about all of us dying. I think. It was really hard to tell, and I think I was blind. But there was screaming, the three of you and Hannah and me and maybe Neolla, it was hard to tell. And I tasted blood, lots of it. Someone with really cold hands was holding my shoulders and there were these heavy iron cuffs on my wrists and ankles and I was scared and angry and there was something happening that I remember thinking was really unfair? And then everything got quiet, and then Sigmun screamed so loud it hurt my ears, and then I woke up and everything just hurt.” 

“That sounds horrible! Do you know what was happening?”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “Something bad. Something really, really bad.”

“Can’t we do something?”

“I don’t know what was happening, or when. For all I know it’s tomorrow.” 

“There’s a scary thought.”

“Yeah. But I have a feeling it’s in a few years. At the very least.”

“I hope so.” 

“Me too.”

I sipped my tea. “Hey, don’t worry. Whatever happens, we’ll have each other.”

He nodded. 

I’m glad we’re not fighting. Simonn’s part of my family just as much as Sigmun and Dolora and I’d never want to lose his friendship. 

I should probably tell him I’m pregnant.

 

21 April 1617

I can see a bump forming on my belly and while I’m excited and daring to be hopeful, I’m also really nervous. I’m worried because I think it’s been about four and some months and I think it was five last November and I’m just scared. And the nightmares just keep getting worse. 

Oh, and I told Simonn yesterday. He said congratulations, and I don’t really know what I expected. 

I do wish all the not-so-pleasant parts weren’t necessary. Besides the varieties of soreness I’m not used to, my skin’s been turning all these funny colors. Dolora said it’s from my skin starting to stretch out and it’s normal. At least the nausea’s mostly gone. I think that was the worst of it. 

 

27 April 1617

I was thinking about baby names today, which I tried not to do last time just in case (and look how that turned out). I was sitting in the library, staring into space, and Sigmun sat next to me and said, “Penny for your thoughts.”

“Baby names.”

“Oh.” He thought on it for a minute. “No idea.”

“We could always ask Dolora and Simonn. They’re bound to have ideas.” 

“Mm-hmm.”

I sighed and rested my head on his shoulder. “I’d rather not worry about it for a little while.” 

“Alright.”

We read until dinner, and I guess I’m just worried because this is when it all went wrong last time and now I’m worried it’ll happen again. I don’t know if I could handle that a second time.


	32. Difficult

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting difficult and nightmares return with vengence.

2 May 1617

Today at work I guess Catherine noticed I’ve been stressed again and poked me with the dull end of her needle and I jumped. 

“What is it?”

“I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but are you pregnant?”

I slapped my palm to my face. “I forgot to tell you, I’m so sorry!” 

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Congratulations!”

“Thanks.” My face felt all flushed from nerves and now that most of the worst of the physical symptoms are fading, I’ve been feeling this almost uncontainable excitement mixed with unbearable anxiety. 

 

8 May 1617

We were in the village today, my friends and I, celebrating the long sunlight hours that mean it’s safe to stay out later, and (believe it or not) Patrik actually spent time with us. He’s always thought he’s so much better than us by virtue of his “noble” blood (he’d live in the city but he was sent here to learn about the country). He even stopped talking to us for a while when we were fifteen because he was “too good to talk to peasants”, like us. I don’t like him very much, but he also has no one else, so I do give him the time of day. 

But today he actually conversed with us a little bit. He mentioned when we were children and I taught him how to make crowns out of flowers. I don’t know if he’s decided friendship is more important than class or if he’s lonely, but at least he’s lost a little of that superior attitude. It was grating. 

 

17 May 1617

Work was torture today. Next time I want to feel so awful, I’ll go turn myself in at the palace for some crime I didn’t commit. I now understand the expression “very pregnant”. But so far, nothing bad has happened. Dolora says the danger signs are usually fever or lots of bleeding, so just to watch out for those. 

Also at work today, Johanna was sewing her seams and I noticed they were crooked, so I said, “Johanna. You should know if your seams were any more uneven they’d be in your fingers.” I probably shouldn’t have said that, in retrospect. 

She turned to me quicker than I thought she could and said, “if your buttonholes were any worse you could use them as arm holes.” 

“If--”

“Stop,” Catherine said again, like she does. She dropped her voice and said, “Pamela’s glaring at both of you, do you want to lose your jobs?”

So I just glared at Johanna and finished my buttonholes for the day. 

 

19 May 1617

There’s no doubt I’m showing now. Not much, but enough. Sigmun noticed and asked if it’s uncomfortable.

“Not really. But I should alter my shirts.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

“I don’t think so. You’re doing plenty.” 

“I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re being here. You’re not basing my worth on the baby. You’re being cuddly.”

“I’d say three of those things are things any husband should be doing!”

“You know, sometimes I think you don’t quite live in the same world as the rest of us.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” 

“Maybe it’s just that you’re so much kinder than anyone else. But you don’t seem to live where I do sometimes.”

“I really don’t know what you mean!”

“I mean that you have never and probably will never understand what it means to be anything but a person!”

He looked so frustrated, like I was speaking German (the only language I speak that they don’t). “How could anyone be anything but a person?”

“Well, to a lot of people, I’m not a person, I’m a woman. Etta wasn’t a person, she had dark skin. And to some people, you’re not a person, you’re an illegitimate! But you don’t see that, or feel it. Not like the rest of us do.”

“And is that a bad thing?” He sounded angry. 

I tried to make my voice soft, but I was also feeling worked up. “No! That’s why I like you! You are one of the only men I’ve ever met who treats me like a person!” 

His shoulders relaxed a little, something resting in his mind. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t people see each other as people?”

“Not everyone was raised by a single mother who barely reached adulthood with a rebellious attitude and love for women instead of men.”

He nodded, pensive. “Do you see people like people?”

“I certainly try my best. I grew up with you and Dolora and Simonn, you know.”

Another nod. “I reckon if we could get everyone to see each other as people, things would be better.”

“If only.”

“If only,” he agreed. 

“You’re not going to do anything dangerous, right?” I said. 

“Of course not. But there has to be something we can do to change things.”

I sighed. He’s so optimistic and I hate it because I don’t want to tell him the truth. “I don’t know if there is.” 

“There has to be!” 

“My love, I just said you and I don’t always see the world the same way. And when I look at the world I think the only way we could possibly change things is incredibly dangerous. Much as I want to change things, the fact is that we’re going to have a baby and I don’t want to put them in danger!” 

He sighed. “We could talk.”

“In front of a crowd? No thank you.” Nothing is scarier than talking in front of a crowd. Except possibly prison. 

“Why not?”

“It’s terrifying!”

“If you say so.” 

“The guards would murder you if you started saying anything. Queen Elizabeth was the one who blamed all our problems on people with dark skin!”

“I suppose. But between that, they way people treat women and illegitimates, and the way the nobles treat the rest of us, something really has to give.”

I nodded, but then I lied down because I was so tired. 

“I love you, my darling,” I said. “And I want things to change. I do. But I don’t want to risk our children. If you do, go ahead. But you know I can’t go with you.” 

“I know. And I don’t want to risk our children anymore than you do. But when they’re older, maybe it would be safer.”

“Maybe.” I’d never risk my family, not matter what. They’re all I have. There is no question that I want us all to live better lives and I want to change the world and I want everyone to treat each other as people. But risking my family--that’s just something I could never do. Not ever. 

 

25 May 1617

It must be almost six months and nothing yet. No blood, no cramps, no fever, nothing. I’m waiting with baited breath, but I’m starting to think that this time, I might actually have a baby. 

1 June 1617

I was sitting in the library today, thinking about names again, and I had this feeling. I just knew that the baby’s a boy. I know that sounds mad, but I just knew it. I’m torn between wanting a daughter and wanting a son, but I guess I’d really be happy with either. 

So far I’m considering for boy’s names Edward, Anthony, Nicholas, and Michael.   
And for girls, Grace, Cecily, Frances, or Anne. I’ll talk to Sigmun tomorrow about names. 

 

6 June 1617

It’s harder than you’d think to come up with a good name. He and I couldn’t find one that really sounded right. All the names sound good, but none of them really sound right. And I haven’t told anyone about my feeling yet. I don’t want to let anyone down. 

I need to plan something for our anniversary. I’m sure he has, because he’s like that, but I’d like to do something too. 

 

12 June 1617

When I woke up today, Sigmun kissed me full on my mouth and said, “Happy anniversary, my love.”

“Happy anniversary to you, too, darling.”

“We’ve been married for a whole year.”

“Wow.”

“I haven’t regretted a single moment.”

“Me neither.” I snuggled closer to him and kissed his neck, adding, “I love you so much.”

“Love you more.”

“No, I love you more.”

“I love you more.”

I giggled and rested my head on his chest again and then he said, “So, any plans for today?”

“Well, I planned to tell you I love you. And that you’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. And I love seeing you smile. And you’re beautiful, and clever, and strong, and so clever about people. You?”

“I planned to surprise you.”

“That sounds exciting.”

“I promise it will be. When do you get off work?”

“About sunset.”

“Alright. Don’t wait for me, I’m off work an hour before,” Work for me is always over at the same time regardless of season, which is strange.

He nodded.

“You’re so amazing.” I just kind of blurted it out.

“What?”

“You’re amazing. You’re brilliant and brave and handsome and sweeter than sugar and kind and I love you.”

“Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

He kissed me one more time and then we dressed and went to work.

According to most of the village, the traditional gift is paper, so I bought him a book and he bought me one. But I always get home first and so I made baked apples as a surprise. And he apparently bought red roses in the village, because he got home and handed me a lovely bouquet of them. I do like flowers. It was just…I felt so good. I love him so much, and I feel so loved, and it was a lovely celebration of one full year of being married. 

 

4 July 1617

None of shoes fit anymore and this is irritating me more than it really should. Sigmun really is kind to me right when this is becoming trying and difficult. But Simonn’s been worrying, I think because of…his four siblings who didn’t live. And Isabella. But I can’t think about that right now. It’s too terrifying.

 

9 July 1617

Is it normal to be anxious and excited at the same time? I’m just so full of both joy and anxiety that I’m not sure what to think anymore. Thank heaven for Sigmun. He’s always there to listen to me babble on when I need to. I need someone to listen to me when I feel so randomly moody. I don’t know why, but some days I just swing between sobbing inconsolably and laughing from pure joy. 

More name talk today. So far, nothing. 

 

15 July 1617

Today Simonn was sitting in the library with me, because he finished work incredibly early, and said, “It’s a boy.”

“Hm?” 

“You said to let you know if I thought I knew what the baby’s going to be. I think it’s a boy.”

“Me too.”

“What?”

“I was sitting here the other day and I just had the oddest feeling it’s a boy.”

“If it’s a girl I think we’ll all be surprised.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Any name ideas?” 

“Christopher. Richard. Thomas. Robert.”

“Your brothers.”

“You could always name him Simonn,” he said with a crooked smile. 

I laughed. “Or Sigmun.”

“You could name him James.”

“Yes, exactly. I’ll name my baby boy after the king, of all people!” 

“You could name him Sigmun, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I never liked the idea of passing down names. And then they’d never know who I was talking to!” 

“Considering how rarely you actually call Sigmun by his name, I’m not sure it would be a problem.”

“I still prefer other names. I was thinking Nicholas, or maybe Michael.”

“What about Gabriel?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, whatever you two choose, I bet it’ll be great.”

“Thanks, Simmie,” I said, smiling. 

I hope we do find a name soon. I think it’s been at least seven months. 

 

22 July 1617

I can’t go to work one more day. My belly is uncomfortably large and my vision is getting a little blurry, just enough to make it hard to see the thread. I might keep going a week longer, but Dolora told me very sternly that it would not be very good for my health to continue walking a mile to the village, sweating all day in that overheated seamstress’s, eating a lunch gone slightly spoiled from the heat, and then walking home again while pregnant. I’ll do the housework then, I guess. I think cooking and sewing and all that would be easier if my fingers weren’t too sweaty to hold a needle and my lunch didn’t taste spoiled. 

Anyways, most every pregnant woman does the housework around here, and they have reasonably healthy babies, so it probably won’t do any harm.

 

23 July 1617

I walked into town one last time today and told Pamela I had to leave.

“I can’t come to work anymore.”

“Why not?”

I actually stared at her for a minute, because I wasn’t sure if she was serious. 

“Because I’m seven and a half months pregnant?”

“Where do you expect me to find a replacement for you?”

“I don’t know. We functioned just fine after Etta left, before Catherine arrived. I should be able to come back to work once the baby’s weaned.”

“In more than a year.”

“Well, everyone could do their own buttonholes for a while. But the midwife--you know Miss Maryam--agreed that continuing to work here for much longer wouldn’t be very good for my health, or my child’s health.”

She glared me down and then sighed. “Fine. I’ll hold your job for a year and a half. Get back sooner rather than later.”

“Thank you,” I said. 

She nodded and I left. I’m just glad she gave me that much time. She must know what it’s like having children. She’s not married, but her sister is Mrs. Knox and no one has more (living) children than Mrs. Knox. Only two of her six died. 

 

28 July 1617

More name talk today. We talked about boy’s and girl’s names because I don’t want to not have a name if the baby is a girl. It’s harder than you’d think to come up with a good name for a baby. Sigmun’s looking for a name that means something; I want one that sounds strong, so when you say it you feel strong. I guess it’s like our names; Sigmun’s means something, and mine sounds strong. 

Dolora suggested not using Ellen or Barbara, because those are her older sisters’ names, and she doesn’t get along with her sisters. But her little brother’s name is Daniel and they got along because he was so much younger than her so she suggested that. Simonn didn’t suggest anything except maybe don’t use his siblings’ names. He said he didn’t want bad luck. 

 

3 August 1617

Simonn seemed extremely on edge today. He barely ate and spoke all of ten words all day. And he had the strangest look on his face, like he was sad. Like something horrible had happened and he was in disbelief. I asked him what was wrong and he just shook his head and said, “Nothing.” I knew it was a lie, so I asked him later in the library if he’d had a dream. 

“A dream?”

“Don’t play dumb, Simonn. Did you have a future-nightmare?”

He sighed. “Yeah.”

“Want to talk about it?”

He shrugged. “Someone was dead. That’s all I knew. Someone was dead and we were all sad. That’s all.” 

“Huh. Was it Hannah?”

He shivered. “No. It wasn’t Hannah, or Neolla, or Mariek.” 

“So who could it be?”

“I don’t know.”

“Any clues?”

“Almost none.”

“I wish we knew.”

“Yeah.”

“I hope you find out what it means.”

“Me too.” 

And I do. 

 

4 August 1617

Today was not a good day. I still feel too hot and too big, too out-of-proportion. I didn’t do anything but lie on my back for a few hours today because no matter how much I sleep, I’m still tired.

But I’m excited and my love is excited and it’s infectious. Today he just kept smiling.

“We’re going to have a baby.”

“You know, I did notice that.”

He sat next to me and smoothed one hand over my stomach. “A month?”

“Give or take.”

“Wow.”

“No kidding.”

“We do need a name for him or her.” More names. 

“Him.”

“Him?”

“Just…I’m really sure it’s a boy. I don’t know why.”

“Well…how does John sound?”

“Ugh, no. Everyone’s named John,” I said. “How about Sigmun?”

My love wrinkled his nose. “No thanks. Wilhelm?”

“Too stuffy. Hm…James?”

“I don’t know. I’m not terribly fond of it.”

“Matthew?”

“I don’t know…”

We bounced names around for a while and we haven’t found anything we like yet. But there’s time. I can’t believe I finally told him it’s a boy. But I guess he’s not the sort to be let down. He’s too kind for that. 

 

11 August 1617

Sigmun had one of those nightmares last night. 

“Dianna? Dianna? Wake up! Please wake up!”

“Sigmun? What is it?”

“Oh, good, you’re alive…”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I had another nightmare. The future kind. We were in this room, and everything was white, and there were all these weird boxes and tubes and some of them were poking into your skin and there were these clear bags of water labeled with long names, and I knew they were medicines. You were on this bed and with your eyes closed and you were really thin and pale, almost like a skeleton, or a ghost. The bed was this contraption made of metal and white bedding and I was there with Mama and Simonn and Hannah and I think seven or eight children? They must’ve been ours, well, some ours and some Simonn and Hannah’s, but I don’t know. I just know I heard this long beeping sound and someone in a white coat said--” He choked. “--Said you were dead.”

“I’m so sorry, darling. But don’t worry. I’m one-hundred percent alive. It was just a dream.”

“It was. But it was horrible. There was some sort of…it was a monster, or a disease. Well, same thing, really. Cancer. Like the crab. Mama talked about it once, but it…it wasn’t the same, in the future.”

“It’s alright, darling,” I said, pulling him closer. When he has nightmares, even just normal ones, he curls up with his head on my chest the way I normally do. “No cancer here. I promise.”

He nodded and we both fell asleep. 

 

15 August 1617

I had the worst nightmare I’ve had in years last night. It was like the ones after…after March in 1614 (will that horrible chill down my spine ever go away?), except worse. It wasn’t even very clear. It was some twisted combination of my mother and that day in March and my fears of losing my baby and I woke up screaming for the first time in years. I must’ve scared the whole house, because I heard Dolora get up (her bed creaks) and Sigmun kissed my forehead and got up to tell her nothing was wrong. 

“Are you sure, little love?”

“Really, Mama. It was just a nightmare.”

“No cramping? No blood? Nothing? Dear, it’s been almost nine months, it could be premature labor--”

“I promise, Mama. Believe me, Dianna would know.”

“Alright, dear, if you say so. But come to me right away if anything happens. Okay?” 

“Okay, Mama. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, little love. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Mama.” 

He kissed me once more before we fell asleep. And I’m fairly certain he stayed awake until I was asleep. 

 

18 August 1617

I can’t go to the village anymore. I’ve been running errands to make up for the gap not going to work has left in my day and my heart (that must sound mad, but I don’t like not working), but the walk is too long and my feet hurt so much I can’t stand for long. I think I’m going to have to get new shoes. So I decided I might as well sew some clothes for my little one. I couldn’t find my book of patterns anywhere in my room, so I searched the whole house. I found it in Simonn’s room, next to a stuffed toy, a large bee. I remember Isabella had a stuffed toy, but I’m pretty sure it was a dog. And Simonn’s other siblings still have their stuffed toys. So this one must’ve been Simonn’s.

I feel bad for looking at his things, but I really do need my book of patterns if I plan to make anything. It’s not like he’d stashed the thing under his bed or something. Anyways, I think it’s rather endearing. I wish I’d had a stuffed toy when I was younger; I can understand why Simonn of all people would cling to childhood. He was an adult the day Annabelle was born.

Anyways, I made a shirt for my little one before I felt too warm and I laid on the bed for a while in an attempt to cool off. Much as I want children, this is miserable.

 

20 August 1617

This is horrible. Between the swelling in my feet that means none of my shoes fit anymore, the burning in my throat when I eat, and the constant aches and pains everywhere, I’ve just been feeling awful. I know I’ve been irritable but it’s hard sometimes to stay levelheaded with things like this. Dolora said to put some cloth under the arch of my back when I sleep to keep my back from aching more than it does and I guess it’s helping a little. 

And today I felt some funny cramps in my belly and I panicked because Dolora wasn’t home and I was scared it was starting, but they eased off in about half an hour. I don’t know why my body’s playing tricks on me like this. It was terrifying. 

 

22 August 1617

I was lying on my bed today, sick and tired of feeling so uncomfortable all the time, and Sigmun sat next to me and took my hand, rubbing his thumb over my knuckles. “You alright?”

“My chest hurts. Like I’m carrying around lead weights instead of body parts.”

“Want me to kiss it and make it better?” he asked, all teasing and cute. Then he blushed crimson and did that nervous thing he does with his hands. “I didn’t--I--uh--”

“I know,” I said. “But I wouldn’t mind.”

He blushed harder at that and said, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Not really. I’m just…tired. And sore. And these irritating cramps that aren’t actually giving birth but just feel like it happen more often than I’d like.” 

“Well, it should be over soon.”

“After actually giving birth. Assuming I survive.”

I saw him shiver a little. “You’ll be fine. You’re strong and Mama’s a good midwife and anything you might need she has here.”

“I don’t mean to scare you.”

“No, you’re right. But I’m sure you’ll be just fine.”

“Me too.”

He took a nervous breath and then asked, “Do you have a will written I should know about?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

“Oh. Okay.” 

“Just keep all my things, you three are all the family I have.” I sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’m really tired. I’m just going to go to bed.”

“Of course.” He kissed me and then lied sort of far away from me, which is good because I always feel like I’m overheating if I’m too close to someone else. 

“Goodnight, my love.”

“Goodnight, darling.” 

What a great birthday. Dolora didn’t even make a cake because chocolate is bad for unborn babies, apparently. I got a new journal from Sigmun, a new pair of boots from Dolora, and a crib from Simonn. He said it was his family’s, but no one needed it anymore so his siblings--brothers I guess--helped him move it to our home. 

Next year I hope I have a better birthday. 

 

29 August 1617

We decided on a name today. I realized we’d gone through all the gospels except Luke, so I said, “How does Luke sound?”

“Luke?”

“Luke Vantas.”

“You know, that sounds just right.”

“So Luke it is.”

“Mm-hmm. And if it is a girl? I trust your judgment, but just in case.”

“You want a daughter, don’t you?”

“Maybe a little…”

I grinned. “I was thinking Violet.”

“That’s lovely.”

“I quite like it.”

“Luke for a boy, Violet for a girl.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“Whatever name we give him, he will be a wonderful baby,” Sigmun said. “We should probably make plans about who will stay home.”

“Pamela gave me a year and a half. If he’s weaned at a year like normal, I could go back to work.”

He frowned, a bit uncomfortable. “To be honest, I don’t like work. I don’t like any of the jobs I’ve had. I really wouldn’t mind staying home with him if you don’t mind going to work?”

I sighed in relief. “I’m glad you said that. I kind of like going to work, or at least I don’t like not going.”

“Then after he’s weaned I’ll stay home.” He smiled at me and I smiled right back, actually happy. I’m happy right now. I’m happy with my husband and my family and my friends and my work and myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I can't figure out how to get the map on here and any help with this would be much appreciated.


	33. Little Luke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke is born and begins life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this chapter is late. My school's been pushing test prep and I have had next to no time lately.

1 September 1617

Dolora’s been fretting over me and I tell her I’m fine (which is only partially a lie because physically I feel pretty awful) but she just keeps worrying. On the other hand, she’s the midwife, so it’s her job. At least she’ll be there when I give birth to my child. I think it’ll be soon; I think it’s been about nine months. I’ve never been more anxious and excited in my life. I’m afraid it will hurt a lot (I know it will hurt a lot) and I keep dreading that my baby will die or I’ll die or something else bad will happen or my baby will only survive a few months or they’ll be born sick or something like that. I’m afraid and I’m excited and…goodness. I need to calm down and get some sleep. I’m tired anyways.

 

2 September 1617

I’m sure my child will be coming soon. I can feel it. Today was fairly miserable and I can tell Dolora’s getting properly worried. I almost didn’t write at all yesterday because I felt so awful. Also, I keep getting those annoying little not-actually-childbirth pangs and I wish they’d stop because it only serves to make me nervous. 

Oh, that one was worse than the rest. I’d double over if I were able to.

Wait—it’s been nine months. Almost exactly, I think. And that one was even worse!

It’s rather late, but I’ve got to get Dolora. I think my baby’s coming.

 

3 September

I’m exhausted.

It hurt a good deal more than I thought it would, and I thought it would hurt a lot. It was, quite honestly, worse than the worst pain I could imagine. I’d rather not go into detail. I just don’t have the energy. It really started around eleven or midnight on the second and my little Luke was born early in the morning today. I remember Sigmun sitting next to me after Dolora let him back in (I was lying in bed by then) and stroking my hair and whispering to me how I was incredible and our child was fine. A minute later, just as I started to drift off, Dolora came in and said, “I checked him and swaddled him and he’s perfectly healthy. Congratulations.” She handed me my baby and I started crying again because he was alive and healthy (I’m so glad Dolora knows how to make sure an infant is healthy because that is one of the scariest things I can imagine) and…it was just overwhelming.

“Luke?” Sigmun asked.

“Luke,” I agreed. “Luke Vantas.”

Dolora grinned and left the room. I’m sure she was tired, too. I rocked Luke a little and he woke up and started crying. My heart just melted and I hugged him close to my chest. He was crying, so I supposed he was hungry, so I undid the top few buttons of my shirt and held him close to me and he started suckling so I guess that was right. He stopped crying and I held him close again. I was so tired, though, that I started yawning and I just fell asleep, I couldn’t stop it. I felt Sigmun take Luke and hold him so my little one was close enough for me to know he was there, they both were, but I could fall asleep without worrying about hurting him in my sleep (considering my nightmares). I could feel that I had that sleepy sort of smile on my face and I rested one hand on his arm and I drifted off and slept the rest of the day and night. When I woke up, Sigmun was still holding Luke and sitting by me and holding my hand, except he must’ve left, because there were two bowls on the table by my bed, one empty and one full. I sat up and I was going to go downstairs, but Sigmun told me to sit down and he passed me a bowl of soup and I ate the whole thing in just a few minutes because I was starving.

“He’s still fine, Dianna. Before you can ask.”

“Hungry?”

“…I…I don’t know. Probably? He’s been crying on and off…”

“Alright.” I tugged down my shirt and started nursing him again and he was just so sweet. My love for my baby is huger than anything I’ve ever felt before and my heart melts to a puddle every time I see him.

It’s late by now and I ought to get some sleep, because I’m sure I won’t be getting much for a while. He barely stops crying for more than an hour or two and we take turns taking care of him, except that of course I’m the only one that can feed him.

I suppose I may not be writing for a couple days, because of my baby. I’m certainly not going to work! I don’t think I could sew while also caring for my little one. I wish I could; I probably make the most of anyone besides Dolora.

 

4 September 1617

My baby was christened today, but I was much too tired to go (Dolora said recovery usually takes a little while). Dolora carried him over to the church and said the three godparents were Simonn, Sigmun, and her. Apparently he didn’t cry much. 

Sigmun almost cried once they were home, because he wasn’t baptized (he asked the the priest when we were children), and said he was just glad. 

I can’t write any more. I have to feed Luke again. 

 

7 September 1617

It’s been four days and I’ve hardly slept more than three hours at a time because my little one keeps waking up crying. Sigmun takes care of it if he can, but he’s still at work during the day and he can’t feed a child. But I’ve remembered some lullabies from when I was a child, and I sing them to my baby while I rock him back and forth. There’s the French one about someone’s brother Jacques, and the one about stars, and the one about sheep. Dolora knows more. She helps out when she’s not busy and I’m so glad she’s around.

My little Luke is asleep right now and I’m sure he’ll wake up in a few minutes and want milk or something. Every time I put him to bed, I tell him I love him and his father loves him and his grandmother and uncle love him and he will always be loved. I also tell him I’d never hurt him, no one in our family will ever hurt him. I don’t want him to have my childhood. I will never let him believe that he is unloved and I will make sure he knows that I will never hurt him or leave him behind or anything awful like that. My baby will grow up loved and cared for.

 

10 September 1617

I’ve been taking willow a lot recently because every part of me is sore and worn out. Besides the expected, my arms and neck are also sore. Go figure. Dolora says that’s normal, along with the bleeding (like the monthly bleeding but obviously not the same cause) and the worsening pain in my chest. Why is childbirth so painful? As a general rule, most species prefer to reproduce, so why do being pregnant and giving birth hurt so damn much?

I wish I’d been pregnant in winter. Ice and snow always help pain and swelling like right now. 

 

29 September 1617

I haven’t written much because my baby constantly needs my care. Everyone’s been working more because now there are five people to feed and three people working, so I end up doing all the housework. I don’t mind; I’ll do what I can if I can’t work. But I am always busy and I can’t wait until my baby’s at least old enough to sit on the floor and play while I cook. But he’s too young to hold up his own head, so I have to keep him in this little bassinet I can set on kitchen counters or hold him myself. 

He’s very sweet when he’s not crying. 

 

3 October 1617

One whole month. I’d write more but he’s crying right now. 

 

13 October 1617

My baby’s just so precious. Maybe I’m acting like a ridiculous new mother, but he’s just the sweetest little baby. He has this wispy blond hair and hazel eyes, and when he giggles it’s the most endearing sound. He likes the play with my hair, I think, and we have a few toys he likes to play with, too. Well, he’s not terribly motile, but there’s a mobile that hangs over his cradle and a few stuffed toys Dolora sewed he likes to…well, try to hold at any rate. And he stares when someone’s talking around him, like he knows this is supposed to mean something. It’s so precious watching him copy our faces, and try to reach for the mobile sometimes. 

He still does cry a lot and I don’t think I’ve gotten more than three hours of sleep consecutively in the past month, but the lullabies work every time (even if it takes some time). I think some of the not-crying noises he makes are trying to copy the songs. 

 

17 October 1617

I’m sure I look at our baby like he’s the sun in the sky (to me he is) but Sigmun does too. He holds our little Luke like he’s the most precious thing in the world. While I am not fond of staying home all day, even if I always am busy, I love having all this time to be near my baby. The thought of leaving him with someone else, even for an hour, makes me feel that horrible anxious feeling that’s somewhere between dread and nervousness. I mean, I trust my husband of all people to care for our baby! It’s really just this feeling in my gut I wish I could stop but I can’t. 

I didn’t think it was possible to love so much. I hardly thought it possible to love my family as much as I do, and now there’s a whole new family member whose smile makes my chest hurt. 

I know it’s dangerous giving him a name and getting attached, but I can’t help it.

 

20 October 1617

We finally got a few minutes of rest last night and we were lying in bed and Sigmun started kissing me all over my face and he said, “Do you want to?”

I did, but I can’t. “My love, we can’t.”

“We can’t?”

“I’m still nursing Luke.”

“Right.” He kissed me one more time and said, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” 

I got a whole three and a half hours asleep before he needed to be fed. Someday I’ll get more. 

 

3 November 1617

Two months old. I’m glad things are going alright so far. I guess not living in the house has protected him from some of the worst diseases. 

 

6 November 1617

He has a fascination with some of the more harmless kitchen utensils, which is handy because he can play with them while I cook. It’s good he can’t crawl yet because he puts absolutely everything he can get his hands on in his mouth and to be frank it’s terrifying. 

I got four hours of sleep last night and I think my body is starting to adjust to getting little sleep. I love my baby more than I could express, but I’ll be so glad once he sleeps through the night. 

 

18 November 1617

I’m sure I’ve said it before, but Sigmun’s dreams just keep getting stranger. 

“My love?”

“Hm?” It was early, and I’d only fallen asleep again two hours ago. Articulate speech doesn’t combine well with those two factors. 

“I had the strangest dream.”

“One of the future ones?” I think I asked. 

He nodded. “It was long, but the only thing I remember was that you were buying razors.”

“Huh?” I was sure I’d misheard him. “I was shopping for you?”

“No, you were buying razors for yourself.”

“Why, did I have a beard?”

“No. I don’t remember why. Any idea?”

I thought, then shrugged. “None. 

“Strange. Not to mention that there was chocolate everywhere.”

My mouth watered. “That sounds delicious.”

“It was.” 

Then he sighed and sat up. “Well, I’m off to work. Love you.”

“I’ll finish patching the quilt. Love you too.” 

It’s a little lonely in the house, all day, with just my baby. I like being around my work friends, even Johanna and Pamela. 

 

30 November 1617

A full five hours of sleep. How wonderful. 

My baby smiles at me sometimes, not always but certainly when I play with him or when I talk to him. He can actually get a hold on some of his toys now and it’s very cute watching his fascination with the rattle. And he’s starting to babble, as if he’s trying to speak. It’s absolutely precious. 

He smiles at Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora, too, and they all play with him when they have time. It’s sweet watching Sigmun playing with Luke, and it’s clear he’s going to be a wonderful father. 

 

3 December 1617

Three months old. My beautiful baby boy is three months old. 

I promised myself I wouldn’t write about our ever-present financial troubles in this journal, but it’s getting bad. We’ve been eating less and less and they all insist I should eat more because if I don’t eat little Luke won’t, but I say they should eat more because they’re making money. If I could go out to hunt it would help, but as it is I’m never sure when my baby will need my attention. 

 

14 December 1617

I left my baby with Dolora today and went hunting and I really am glad because then Dolora and I could make a nice, thick stew and preserve the rest of the meat and we could all eat a good meal for once. It was a bit of strain off our finances. 

I guess it’s not a crime to leave my little Luke with someone else for a few hours. Maybe next time I’ll just sleep. 

 

25 December 1617

Happy Christmas! Since our finances have been bad, each three of us put our heads together to get a gift for the other one. (Luke is much too young to care that he’s not getting anything besides heaps of affection so we figured he’d be alright.) Simonn got a pair of very nice wool socks, one red and one blue (his favorite colors), Dolora three lovely glass jars, Sigmun a new pair of boots, and I a lovely hair ribbon. 

Our Christmas meal was small, but my hunting trips have helped and it was delicious. Luke seemed to like it; he smiled the whole time and babbled quite a bit and I think he tried to laugh. It was adorable. 

 

31 December 1617

It’s hard to believe it’s been almost four months since my baby boy was born. I hope this time next year my baby is a year and four months and maybe money is a bit more stable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't figure out how to get the map posted. If anyone knows how please tell me!


	34. Growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little Luke starts growing and money grows tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short! Hopefull I'll have more writing time now that the worst of the testing is over.

1 January 1618

If I ever get more than five hours of sleep in one night again it will be a miracle and I might actually feel well-rested for once. It’s not anyone’s fault, certainly not my baby’s, but it’s been months since I’ve slept well and I want a rest. A nice hot bath would be nice, especially considering the way my back’s been aching. But that’s alright. I’ll live. 

We’ve been hungry a lot lately. I need to go hunting to get more food for us. Our preserves won’t last forever and with only three working, we need the food. 

 

3 January 1618

Four months old. He’s adorable and smiling and his baby babble is so sweet to listen to. I know my family loves him as much as I do. Sigmun cradles him the way I do, with this look in his eyes of adoration and love, whenever he has the chance. Dolora does, too, and she also also likes to play peekaboo with him while I sleep, which is usually when she gets home before Sigmun and Simonn and I fall asleep on the couch. I just can’t stop myself from sleeping when I have the chance. 

I think it’s adorable the way my baby laughs when we play peekaboo with him. Sigmun’s a very good father when it comes to playing with little Luke. Luke really likes the rattle, too, and it’s sweet watching him follow it with his eyes and laugh at the sound. I’m just glad I have my family to help me because there really our days when I can’t stay awake. 

 

13 January 1618

After several successful hunting trips, we have enough meat preserved to last a few weeks so I can catch up on patching up the coats and darning the socks. I’m glad I can eat enough because I hate the idea of my baby going hungry and I hate the idea of my family going hungry. At least I’ll be able to work as soon as my baby’s old enough to be weaned. 

Last night I was so tired I fell asleep at eight and when I woke up, Sigmun was curled up behind to me with his arm around my middle and his face in my hair and I would’ve been happy to stay there forever, but my baby was crying and I had to take care of him. 

 

30 January 1618

More hunting. Since my baby can go longer without my care these days, I can spend longer hunting and find more food. We’ve been eating a bit better lately, which is good. I really don’t want to starve. 

I was cooking today and my baby was playing with his stuffed bear, sort of, and reaching for his mobile. He likes when I put him by the window, and I’d take him outside if it wasn’t so cold. 

 

3 February 1618

Five months. He’s really trying to talk, I can tell, and I can usually figure out what he wants, if only because there’s only so many things a five-month-old can want. And it’s easier to handle things now that he can really hold and play with his toys for long enough for me to get just about half an hour of rest, which is just enough. Dolora says he should be crawling soon because he’s been fairly mobile recently. 

Between how long he’s been sleeping and his ability to play more while I do chores, I’ve been feeling a bit better lately. I got seven hours of sleep last night and while I am still floating in a cloud of exhaustion sometimes, I’m also feeling just good enough to feel normal again. 

 

20 February 1618

I woke up today with that horrible feeling when you just know you’ve started your bleeding and you have to wash the sheets and all that and I just stared at the ceiling and said, “Well, hell.”

“What is it?” Sigmun asked. 

“I’m bleeding.”

“Bleeding? Are you alright? I’ll go get Mama! What happened?”

“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just my bleeding like most months.” 

“What on Earth?!”

“Didn’t Dolora explain this to you? Just about every woman gets her bleeding once a month! It’s painful and irritating but nothing to worry about.”

He thought, then said, “I do remember that…is it bad?”

“It’s horrible. But I live with it. I should take care of Luke,” I said, swinging my legs out of bed and going to take care of my squalling baby. He mostly cries for a reason nowadays, so I can most always fix whatever it is. 

 

3 March 1618

Six months. He’s getting so big! We took down his mobile because Dolora said it’s dangerous if he can reach it and get tangled up in it. He’s so darling, trying his hardest to talk and crawl. People in the village say babies shouldn’t crawl, but to be quite frank I trust Dolora more and she’s of the opinion that it’s fine as long as he learns to walk around a year or so. He’s also got sort of hazel eyes, not quite my color and not quite Sigmun’s. His hair is getting a little thicker, less wispy, but still very blond like mine when I was little (according to my mother). 

With plants starting to bloom green, our food situation should be getting even better, which is good because Luke will be eating solid food before long. And by then I’ll be back at work and I make more than Sigmun so things should be better financially, too. I certainly hope so. 

 

6 March 1618

I realized how happy I am today. I’m tired often and my chest still hurts some days and sometimes he cries and I can’t figure out why and I haven’t had time to spend time with my family the way we used to but really, I’m happy. I’m married happily, I have my real mother and my best friends and my beautiful baby boy, I have friends in the village, I can read and write and learn, I can hunt and swim and go for walks, I can sew and cook and knit, and I am happy. 

 

18 March 1618

My baby is really starting to appreciate it when I play with him and it’s so precious when he laughs when we play peekaboo. And while he’s only really got a handle on saying syllables, I have the feeling he’s starting to figure out that when we talk to him we’re saying things he can say and understand, too. Sigmun always tells him stories before bed and so he’s really hearing lots of words, he just has to say them. He’s also trying his hardest to crawl and I can tell he’s so sure he can but he can’t quite get it right. He can move a little by sort of scooting around, but he’s not mobile enough yet for it to be scary. I worry for the day he starts crawling. I’ll have to put all the candles out of reach, and anything sharp or small enough to choke on. 

With spring coming, Simonn’s been getting more work and more pay, but he also needs to eat more. I don’t think I’ve ever really eaten until I was full outside of holidays, but my stomach protests more often these days. I wish I had enough to eat. I wish my baby had enough to eat. 

 

26 March 1618

Sundays are my absolute favorite day of the week. Everyone’s home and we all rest in the library and play with little Luke and read. Today I was drowsy like I always am so I dozed on the couch while Sigmun and Dolora played with Luke and Simonn read. Simonn kept looking at Luke like he wanted to play with him, too, and in the end when Dolora left (because people don’t take Sunday off when they’re sick), Simonn played with Luke too. It felt so nice to sit with my husband and my best friend and play with my baby, like we didn’t have a care in the world. 

He loves playing patty cake, even if it’s hard for him. And peekaboo makes him giggle the most endearingly. And Sigmun found bouncing him on his knee evokes quite a lot of laughter. Dolora told us to start getting him used to food, even if he won’t be weaned for a while. So we took turns having him sip some thin broth from a spoon and it took some doing, but he ate some of it. He’s developed a habit of throwing spoons, which mightn’t be such a problem except that Sigmun and I laughing at it probably isn’t helping. 

Simonn’s been quite a help, considering all his siblings. He knows how to get children to eat. And he took care of Luke for a little while, while Sigmun cooked and I napped. I’m glad he’s been sleeping more, too. Nowadays I can cook and mend and clean without feeling half-asleep all the time. 

 

3 April 1618

Seven months old. I can’t believe it. He’s bigger than that stuffed bear he loves so much. They say once you get to a year everything gets easier, and five years just about means safe. So once we’re to a year hopefully some of my worry will ease up. Every time he coughs or sneezes (his sneezes are so cute unless they’re mucus-y) I worry he has croup or consumption. Every time he refuses to eat I worry it’s a fever. I know it’s ridiculous, he’s not exposed to diseases in the village (I trust Dolora’s explanation of disease), but still I worry. 

 

16 April 1618

Simonn had one of his nightmares again last night. I was awake because Luke was so I went downstairs with my baby in my arms and I saw Simonn trying to make tea again. He was doing better than usual for his nightmares and he looked panicked. He almost jumped out of his skin when he saw me. 

“Why’re you here? Why’s he with you?”

“Luke woke me up and I heard you so I thought I’d come down and see if you needed anything. He’s just being too fussy to go back to sleep just yet.”

“Oh.”

“Future-nightmare?” I asked. 

He nodded and threaded his fingers through his hair. “It’s the same one!”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve had this one before. I know it! I was blind, and there were shackles on my wrists and ankles, and cold hands, and blood, and everyone was screaming, you and me and Sigmun and Dolora and Neolla and--and Hannah…” His voice caught. “And then Sigmun screamed so loud it woke me up.”

I had the strangest feeling he’d told me about a similar dream before. “I think you told me about something like this.” 

“I think so. It was all so unfair, and I was so angry…I’ve never been more angry in my life than I have in that dream! I don’t even know what’s happening, I can never see…I don’t even know when!” 

“Simonn, don’t worry. It’s alright. There’s no reason anything like that should happen any time soon. If it does happen, it’ll be in a long time, alright?”

“I can’t just not worry!”

“Of course not. But I’m telling you, there’s no reason it should happen. Not for a long time.”

“I suppose.”

Luke decided to start wailing again so I held him closer and tried to sing him to sleep, but he wouldn’t. 

“I should go change him. You going to be alright?”

“I’ll live.”

“But will you be okay?”

He sighed. “I think I will be.”

“Then see you tomorrow morning.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

I hope he’s alright. I really am sure he had that nightmare before, but my memory’s been on the blink with this lack of sleep. 

 

30 April 1618

Today I finally felt like myself again. Except not going to work. But I woke up like usual, cooked breakfast, took care of my baby, did all the chores, had enough time to play with my baby (Dolora says it’s important for his development), and got to sleep at a reasonable hour. I even had some time to spend with Sigmun, even if I am still nursing Luke. (I wouldn’t dare ask Dolora if the superstition about sleeping with someone while nursing is true or not. It’d be too embarrassing.)

I’m still tired, and my little Luke wakes me up whenever he feels the need to, but I feel like myself again and if that’s not improvement I don’t know what is.


	35. Back to Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke grows up and Dianna heads back to work.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is late! My SciOly regionals got in the way of things (but hey, we're going to state!)

3 May 1618

Eight months old. I can hardly believe it. He’s perfectly fine, according to Dolora, and I trust her. I’ve been giving him thicker brother, slowly, so he’ll be able to eat normally by the time he’s a year. Sigmun likes to feed him, even when he throws spoons. Or, tries to anyways. Sigmun’s more patient than I am, too. 

Simonn’s been relaxing around Luke more lately. I guess she was afraid he’d hurt our baby the way I was. But sometimes Simonn takes Luke for a while to play and Sigmun and I can rest. Thank heaven. 

 

9 May 1618

My son is getting quite close to talking, and to crawling. You can see him trying, sort of crawling and sort of rolling, and babbling syllables that almost sound like words. When he wants something he’ll reach for it and try to grab it. It’s precious. The only scary thing is when he actually gets a grip on something and tries to put it in his mouth. That is frightening. 

And he’s set up another good cry. I best go see what’s wrong before it gets much worse. 

 

16 May 1618

Now that he’s been sleeping with only one or two interruptions, it’s been much easier to deal with things. He’s such a sweetheart. Dolora says it’s easy (relatively) for a while, until two. She says two is a hard age, but I wouldn’t know. I don’t remember being two. I just know that’s about a year and a half after my mother got me. 

My baby likes his rattle and a ball Simonn brought from his old home, he likes kicking it while I hold him. He also likes playing tug-of-war, except of course he’s not terribly coordinated or anything so it’s adorable watching him try.

 

21 May 1618

He got his first tooth today! It was just a little white thing on the front of his bottom gum but it means he’s getting teeth. He’s been fussy about it but he has a sort of chew thing, like the one Simonn made for Joanne when she was a baby, and that helps. According to Dolora, it can be much worse, so I guess we’re lucky that way. 

As long as my baby is healthy and safe and reasonably normal when it comes to development I’m happy. 

 

26 May 1618

He started crawling for real today, that is, with any sort of noticeable speed. And I’d write more but this means I have to keep up with him to make sure he doesn’t get something bad in his mouth. 

 

3 June 1618

Nine months old. He’s really getting fast at crawling. It’s adorable watching him scoot around because he’s so excited to move around. He’s adorable. I know all I’ve been writing for months is gushing about my baby, but I really can’t help it! He’s so sweet and so cute and he’s my baby boy. Anyways, it’s not like anyone will ever read this. (I hope.) I mean, I have a journal so I can write things out without worrying about people thinking different of me. And so I can sort things out in my head so I can say them without mixing up my words. 

Well, my baby’s off again, so I better follow him. I don’t want him getting sick from eating something toxic. 

 

7 June 1618

Simonn went to the graveyard again. He does that most weeks. He doesn’t go to church, not like how Dolora doesn’t because people don’t like her and Sigmun doesn’t because he wasn’t baptized and I don’t because I always sleep through it, but because he doesn’t believe in God. I guess I can understand that, but I’ve always figured God’s real. Maybe I’m mad, but I don’t think God is a man. I’d never dare tell anyone, but I figure God doesn’t have a gender, but if they did, I’d say she because people seem to blame her for an awful lot of things that aren’t really her fault. 

 

12 June 1618

We went to the market today and I just feel like the happiest woman in the world. It was sunny and warm out, so Sigmun and I went to run errands with Luke. We needed the usual: food, some fabric for new clothes for Luke (he’s growing so fast), some tea, and a few other odds and ends. But mainly, Sigmun and I just walked around holding hands. I was cradling Luke in my other arm and Sigmun’s grip on my hand was warm and gentle and his hand fit in mine like puzzle pieces. Luke made these precious cooing sounds and sometimes, he babbled a little bit like he’s trying to talk. He’s such a sweet child! I love my little family. It was a golden day today; no work, no stress, no pain or tears or the other things that haunt my normal days. It was just a perfect, golden day.

 

18 June 1618

It’s always struck me as odd how careful Simonn is around Luke. He refuses to hold him and he won’t be left alone with my little one. I mean, I’d have thought he’d feel a bit more confident around children because he had so many siblings. I suppose he’s worried because of the four who didn’t make it.

Today was Simonn’s birthday, which is why I’m thinking of him. We tried for a real birthday, a decent meal that I hunted and one little puff pastry and presents, a notebook from Dolora and a pen from me and new socks from Sigmun. I hope we have Simonn a good enough birthday. 

 

26 June 1618

I don’t think I love anything more than sitting and playing with my little Luke. He loves the rhymes (even though he can’t copy them), and he loves crawling around and putting things in his mouth (which makes me very anxious), and he adores playing with kitchen utensils (for whatever reason).

“Orange and lemons, say the bells of Saint Clement’s. You owe me five farthings, say the bells of Saint Martin’s. When will you pay me, say the bells of old Bailey. When I grow rich, say the bells of Shoreditch. When will that be, say the bells of Stepney. I do not know, say the bells of Old Bow. Here comes a candle to light you to bed, here comes a chopper to chop off your head!”

“That is so morbid,” Simonn interrupted.

“He likes it.”

“He likes it because you’re saying it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re his mother. He wouldn’t like it so much if a stranger was saying it.”

“He’d like it if you were saying it. You’re his uncle. He loves you, too.”

“I don’t need any more children attaching themselves to me.”

“Simonn…”

“How many of them am I going to be expected to put up with?”

“What?”

“How many of them are you two going to have? I need to know how many I’ll be living with.”

“You could get your own house.”

“I guess, but…”

“But?”

“But I don’t really want to leave here when it’s already been home longer than anywhere else, alright?”

“Alright.”

Luke gurgled and crawled over to me, pulling himself onto my lap. He plopped himself down there, quite comfortably, and started clapping my hands together. “Yes, little love. Clapping. Don’t you like it?” He laughed again and snuggled close to me. It still amazes me that he’s attached himself to me so firmly. I know I’m his mother, but it’s still surprising that he has so much love for (of all people) me. He’s so precious, though, with his big hazel eyes and thin blond hair and that cute gap between his teeth. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone so much in my life.

 

29 June 1618

I got seven consecutive hours of sleep last night, which is definitely progress. He woke up hungry, so I had to take care of him. I don’t mind, though. Six hours is plenty enough for me at this point. My baby has no idea that I’m almost relieved when I hear him cry because it means he’s alive. But I’d rather hear him laughing, cooing, babbling and trying to talk. He’ll be talking soon enough. I wonder what his first word will be? My mother told me mine was cup (before she hated me), and Sigmun says his was book. But Simonn says that of his siblings, it was Papa for four of them and household objects for the other four (though Mama and Simmie followed pretty quickly). Simonn’s was bowl.

I wonder.

I should be able to go back to work soon. I feel bad that I haven’t been able to go, but no one else can feed him, so I don’t have much of a choice.

 

3 July 1618

Ten months. My goodness. 

I remembered another lullaby last night. I wonder where I remember these from. Perhaps when I was little, before my mother hated me so much? At any rate, it was a little one. He seems to like it when I sing and dance around with him in my arms. I just walked around the library, singing lullabies and rocking him back and forth until he fell asleep. I think he likes the sound of my heartbeat, or the feel of it, the way I like resting my head on my love’s chest and hearing his heartbeat, so I know there’s someone there, someone who loves me. His little arms clinging to me make me feel like a protector, like a mother.

I’ve never before realized how much it means to be a mother. And I’ve never before realized how much Dolora did for me when my mother was failing to raise me.

 

8 July 1618

He’s almost a year. Just four more nerve-wracking years to go before we’re properly safe. He’s getting big, but it’s no effort to lift him up and hold him on my hip. He’s bigger than that stuffed bear, though. He still adores it. He’s so sweet, my little one. He loves Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and me, and he smiles at everything, and he laughs all the time. I wonder if he knows how much we love him. I wonder if he knows how much I’ll always love him.

Today, while Dolora was cooking, Luke kept reaching for the bowl of mashed potatoes as if he wanted some (because sometimes I give him mashed potatoes for a treat) and Dolora kept giving him some.

“Dolora!”

“Dianna…”

“He’ll get sick. You’re the one telling me not to let him eat too much of that!”

“I’m his grandmother, Dianna dear. It’s my job.”

I scooped up my baby and held him on my hip. “Little love, you’ll get sick!”

He giggled and snuggled up to me, all sweet and innocent like he is. “You think you’re so clever, little one. Grandma’s going to spoil you rotten.”

Dolora laughed. “Dianna dear, will you tell everyone dinner in ten minutes?”

“Alright,” I said. I don’t mind so much Dolora spoiling my little one some. I think he’ll grow up knowing he’s loved. I hope so, anyways.

 

10 July 1618

My little Luke doesn’t like these too-warm months. On the other hand, neither do I, so what can I say? But he’s grumpy in the heat and I think the best thing to do would be to take him to the creek to splash around in the cool water. We’d keep a close eye on him, of course. I hardly let him out of my sight anyways.

I think I’ll take him tomorrow.

 

11 July 1618

I took my little Luke to the creek today while my friends and my love were at work and watched him splash around. He was so precious, with his amazed face at the cool water, and he seemed to like it. I took him to the shallow part, the part where the water just trickles over the rocks and it’s all of few inches deep. I loved that amazed look in his eyes when I set him down in the water and he stared at the cold creek like it was heaven. I sat on the edge of the creek and watched him play and even though it’s so much responsibility and stress and there’s so much to do and I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in forever, I love him and I’d never give this up.

 

14 July 1618

Today was his birthday. Twenty-three years old! There’s no denying we’re all adults by now, like it or not (and sometimes I’m not sure I like it). We’re stretched thin financially, but between Dolora and Simonn and Sigmun’s wages we scraped up enough for a nice dinner and a few baked apples. Little Luke didn’t have any idea but was going on, but I think he understood that we were celebrating because he kept laughing and smiling. We did presents, sort of; mostly Dolora made the apples and Simonn got him a new belt and I surprised him by mending his cloak. 

It may sound silly, but really just the four--five of us sitting around the table with a meal just made me happy. I read the books and all the heroes are always so unsatisfied with this, with peace and a family and little sparks of happiness, and I think I must not be a hero in a book, because the simple fact that I have my husband and my real mother and my best friend and my baby boy and just enough to eat makes me happy. On the other hand, most of those heroes have never really been unhappy, never been so afraid and hopeless like I was. I guess I’m satisfied with what I have because I never dreamed I’d have anything more. 

 

20 July 1618

My baby boy is definitely old enough to understand what’s happening around him a little because he looks up when I read to him, and he tries to speak back sometimes. It’s undeniably precious. The only problem is that no one writes books for children so I’m stuck choosing my favorite novels and making sure there’s nothing violent or scary in them. (Of course no romance novels.) He likes poetry, too, sometimes. I think he likes the rhythm, the way he likes the rhymes. 

We had a nice day today. Food is more abundant in the summer and we just eat like normal, enough so that we can sleep. When I’m hungry, I find I can’t sleep. But we’re alright these days. Eating enough and all that. And my little Luke does better when I’ve been eating better, no real surprise there. 

 

29 July 1618

I hate how hot it is these days. It feels like sitting in a boiling pot. I have to cook but I keep my baby out of the kitchen so he doesn’t get sick from the heat. 

He’s been eating more and more broth lately, slowly but surely. He’ll be fine to be really weaned by August. 

 

3 August 1618

Eleven months old. Almost a full year. They say a year makes it safe, or at the very least safer. I mean, it’s never really safe, but it’ll be safer. I’m sure my persistent anxieties make me seem strange and worrisome, but I am scared for him. I know how many children die. I have faith in Dolora’s skills as a doctor, but I just worry. 

 

11 August 1618

I think he should be weaned by the end of the month. Sigmun’s quite good at getting food into Luke and he’s been eating broth and mashed vegetables. So I think by the end of the month I’ll be able to go back to work, and hopefully not become Pamela’s next target. I can’t wait to go back to work. I can see Catherine and Susan and the others again. I miss their company. And I miss Hannah and Neolla and Mariek, too. It’s just a little lonely being home all the time. 

 

21 August 1618

Today was a good day. I’m headed back to work in three days, while Sigmun works out the particulars of quitting (I can’t believe I forgot to mention how he lost his job around October and then found a new one in November with the dry goods store). He’ll be taking care of Luke and I’ll be back at the seamstress’s. I can’t wait to go back to work. I love my baby boy and I’ve enjoyed playing with him and reading to him all the time, but it’s been a year and I want to go back to work. 

 

24 August 1618

Today I went back to work! Pamela quit, apparently, and now Agnes is in charge. She has a grim face but she’s better and less belligerent than Pamela. Even Johanna’s calmed down a bit now that Pamela is gone. Catherine was excited to see me and I her, and Susan was kind even though she’s shy. I don’t like the heat and sweat in the seamstress’s, but when I was sitting there sewing my buttonholes with Catherine, chatting like we hadn’t a care in the world, I felt great. 

 

25 August 1618

I’d forgotten the other advantages of not nursing my baby anymore. Besides work, it’s not bad (apparently dangerous but I never found out for sure) to sleep together anymore. Which is nice. (I can feel myself blushing as I write this.) But it was very nice, like it is, and I felt good all of today. I got home from work, played with my baby, had dinner, read, fell asleep all comfy and safe in my bed. 

It’s a bit of a relief. I know my baby is being taken care of and I know we’re making enough money that he’ll grow up safe and I know that for a little while, things are going to be okay.


	36. Baby Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title says it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this chapter gets really dark. I can't say more without giving it away but I am dead serious when I say this gets very, very dark.

ONCE AGAIN MY NOTE COULD BE VERY IMPORTANT TO YOU IT PLEASE READ

3 September 1618

One whole year old! I can’t believe it. My baby boy is a year old! 

But more than that. Today he took three steps on his own! He pulled himself up with the couch and toddled three steps before he sat down on the ground again, laughing. His cute hazel eyes were so bright and excited, so lively and sweet. He’s clearly attached to Sigmun like he is to me, which is good because he won’t get upset about Sigmun staying home with him. 

It’s also nice that I can run errands and go to work like normal. I talked with Neolla and Mariek today, not about much but we shared how we’ve been and I invited them over to meet my baby. They’ll be over in a week. 

 

10 September 1618

Neolla and Mariek were over for tea today. Sigmun and them and I sat around the table while Luke sat in his highchair, happily occupied with those colorful wood blocks Simonn has from when he was little. 

We all got caught up and Neolla’s law practice has been going well and Mariek’s aunt is trying very, very hard to get her married (as if. I don’t think Mariek would ever get married to anyone besides Neolla). It’s nice having my friends around to talk to again. 

 

18 September 1618

I came home today and Sigmun was sitting in the library playing with Luke and the house smelled like good stew and bread and everything was warm and lit yellow with sunset and the trees were painted like fire. My baby was laughing and babbling and my love was smiling and everything was just so good. I mean, it’s been good for a while now. I’m just happy. 

 

23 September 1618

My love and I talked today about having another baby today. 

“Do you want another baby?” I asked. 

“Where did that come from?”

“We’ve been…” I felt blushy, which is ridiculous because I mean we sleep together! What’s to feel embarrassed about? “Sleeping together again, so it’s bound to happen again.” 

“Right. Well, I’d like to have another baby. If you do.”

“I do.”

“Then that’s that.” He kissed me and that was indeed that. 

 

28 September 1618

Today was a good day at work. More days are, now that Pamela’s gone and apparently David got put very firmly in his place by Susan. I wish I’d been there. I’d’ve loved to see Susan really going off at someone. 

Susan and Catherine and I talked about things, just about life and all that. Susan seems happier than she did before. I asked her and she said she just felt better. Catherine’s still looking for a husband because she figures since she has a job she can find someone who she’s sure about. I’m glad I never really had to get married. I like being married but I also like having the choice. 

 

3 October 1618

Thirteen months old. He’s getting so big! And he can really toddle now; he likes to walk towards his toys. I came home today and Sigmun was crouched across the room, saying, “Come here, sweetie! Come here!” Luke was toddling over to him, slowly but surely. And when he made it, Sigmun scooped him up and swung him around like he weighed nothing. 

“Having fun?”

“Very much so. He’s getting good.” Luke giggled and snuggled up to Sigmun like he does. “Here, can you take him? I’m gonna make dinner.”

“Of course.” I took our baby in my arms and he snuggled up to me, too, sweet and happy like he is. I really do think he loves me, and I know for sure I love him. I love him. 

 

7 October 1618

He had another cough today. It always terrifies me when that happens. But Dolora assures me he’s just coughing, because everyone coughs sometimes. She promised as soon as she thought it was something bad she’d have treatments ready. Of course she will. 

Andrew was over today. He cooed over Luke like we all do and my baby really took a liking to him. I’m glad; Andrew loves children. 

Other than that it’s been fine. Simonn really hates his job, Dolora’s getting plenty of work, I’m doing fine. I think it’s easier on Sigmun that he’s not looking for a job, too. I think it’s easier on him that he’s not always getting looked down on for his birth. 

 

15 October 1618

It’s starting to get cold out so we stoke the fire a little higher to keep the library warm. I wrap Luke up in a warm blanket every night so he’ll be warm and safe at night. Since his crib is in our room we’ll hear as soon as something’s wrong, and it’s such a comfort when I sleep, knowing I’ll know if my baby isn’t safe. 

 

21 October 1618

The cough hasn’t gone away and he’s been fussy like he’s not feeling well. Dolora gave him something for a cough and said it’s a cold, everyone gets colds sometimes. I’m trying not to worry. I mean, he’s my baby, how can I not worry? But he’s been coughing and breathing much too fast. I worry. 

 

26 October 1618

I’m really scared. He has a fever and he’s been shaking like he’s cold, and he’s not as fussy as before, but only because he seems so tired. He doesn’t walk much anymore; he just sits in one of our laps and plays with his toys quite listlessly. I’m very worried. Dolora’s been treating him, but I’ve known her most of my life and I can see that little crease on her forehead that means she doesn’t know for sure if she can fix it. 

 

28 October 1618

He got a little better today. His breath was easier and he walked and played more, and his fever lightened up. I think he’s getting better. I think he’ll be alright. Dolora’s face lost that little crease and everything seemed better. I felt better. 

 

31 October 1618

We all went into the village for All Hallows’ this year. It was wonderful. He’s still a little sick, of course, but he laughed at the dancers and Dolora held him for a little while Sigmun and I danced. I danced with Simonn, too, and of course Simonn and Hannah danced. I sat with the other women who have babies for a time during the dances without partners and watched my love dance while I clapped in time to the music. My baby tried to clap, too, and it was just the cutest thing ever. It was a nice All Hallows’ and I hope I can take my baby to every All Hallows’ after this one. 

 

1 November 1618

We took him into the village for All Saints’ Day this year, too. There was dancing again and I danced with Sigmun until my feet were sore and my face was red and my heart was pounding. There’s something strangely comforting about dancing in the midst of the rest of the people of our village, surrounded by people and unsure were I am but always touching my husband, if just barely. 

I sat with Luke while they did more of the single dances and he was clapping again, and then us mothers all set our children down to play together. (Well, they sort of do. They’re too young to really play together.) I let him have a little sugar, too, and his face just lit up when he tasted it and he laughed and smiled like he’d never be sad again. 

Patrik was there and though he’s huge and strong, he was gentle when he asked to hold Luke and Luke seemed to like him well enough. Patrik sat with me for a while and though he didn’t talk much, I really do think he feels bad about how he treated us when we were younger. As long as he’s kinder like this I’ll forgive him. 

Dinner was lovely, and Hannah was over and so were Neolla and Mariek and since they chipped in we could afford a better dinner than we expected. We got enough soup into Luke for him to stop fussing and it was so warm and I’m glad my baby’s getting better. 

 

3 November 1618

He got worse again and I’m worried it was the village. He was tired and listless again today, and he was fussy and shivery. He had a fever again and he was coughing horribly and his breath was much too fast and it was terrifying. Dolora had that crease on her forehead again and I’m scared. I really am. 

But Simonn drew his picture today anyways, because he said he’d like to get it done now. It’s a nice picture, like the one from last year, and I like it. I hope he’s in many picture in years to come. 

 

5 November 1618

He was even worse today, coughing and choking and breathing hard with his belly. Dolora said it might be winter fever. It’s not even winter! I’m so scared. Dolora’s been treating him but we have to stay up with him all the time. Sigmun and I take turns. Simonn’s been working ridiculously late hours and when I asked why he said he didn’t want to accidentally make things worse. I think it scares him. I know it scares me. 

 

6 November 1618

His lips were blue and he was coughing so hard and I’m so scared. He’s got such a fever and Dolora’s trying but he’s fussy and tired and always coughing, he doesn’t stop. He won’t walk anymore, doesn’t even babble. I’m so scared. When I hold him I can feel him shaking. I don’t pray much but I find myself praying so hard for him. All I want is for him to live. I’ve wanted so many things in my life but nothing, nothing as much as this. 

 

7 November 1618

It’s not possible. I’m dreaming, right? I’ll wake up and he’ll still be there. My little Luke. How is it possible that this child I once prayed I could have has been snatched from me? He took his last breath in my arms. His tiny little body went cold while I was cradling him so close to me, his lips blue and cold. My baby boy just died and it’s not fair! It’s not fair that I loved him so, so much and now he’s been taken from me like a toddler snatch toys from another. It’s not fair that my little love will never has his chance to grow up and be the amazing person he could have been. None of this is fair!

I’ve cried so much I can barely speak and my throat burns like fire. Dolora and Simonn have tried to comfort me, but nothing can make a dent in the sadness inside me. I don’t want to be true; it can’t be true. It just can’t be real. I have nightmares! Maybe this is just one awful nightmare. One long, long nightmare.

I know in my heart of hearts that this can’t be true, as I cannot remember a single time I’ve written in my journal in a dream, but I need to believe that it’s not real. I have no choice.

 

8 November 1618

What’s the point? I had my beautiful baby boy and now he’s gone and I just don’t see the point. I woke up and his cradle was empty and cold. The entire world feels heavy and dark and devoid of hope. My heart feels empty and cold and wrong, as if it shouldn’t be there at all. I didn’t eat much today and I wasn’t hungry. Work was drudgery and I felt like I wasn’t there. I feel like I’m not inside my own body; I can barely feel my fingers and toes. I don’t know why I bother writing. I can’t hear my pen scratching on the page the way I used to and food tastes like paste. Sometimes, I swear I hear Luke babbling his baby talk or crying or laughing or just being there. Every time, I turn around and he’s gone.

We had the funeral today. He was buried. We dug a hole six feet deep and put his tiny little coffin into the ground. I can’t get the image out of my head. I can’t. 

Dolora keeps trying to talk to me, but I can’t. I can’t talk to anyone. It hurts too much.

 

9 November 1618

I wish I didn’t have to go to work. Even those shining needles remind me of Luke’s shiny hazel eyes. I almost started crying today and I felt Catherine poke me with the dull end of her needle to help me stay together.

Catherine asked me what was wrong after work and I just ran away. I’ve barely even spoken to Sigmun since. I don’t want to talk. I cry every night now and I haven’t been sleeping, because the nightmares have returned with vengeance. Dolora makes me eat, but I don’t want to. I just can’t seem to feel anymore.

Sometimes I wish I were dead, too. Sometimes I think if I were dead, I wouldn’t have to feel this pain. I can’t think of anything besides him. At work, my fingers ache from how often I prick them with the needle and I don’t care because at least it’s something I can feel.

 

10 November 1618

I feel so alone. I can see my family is sad, too, but I feel so lonely. Simonn paces and looks anxious, Dolora frets more and cries when it’s late, Sigmun tries to find a new job, and I sob by myself when no one is home because I can’t talk. My baby is dead and I can’t stop thinking about him, about that curl that never quite laid flat, about those adorable little cooing sounds he made and the sweet sound of his babbling and those precious toddling steps, about his huge personality in that tiny little body. Catherine keeps asking me what’s wrong and maybe one of these days I’ll tell her. Neolla and Mariek brought over food and though I’m grateful, it all tastes like paste to me.

Sigmun asked me if I was okay and I told him I was fine. I know he didn’t believe me because he hugged me so tightly that I thought I’d melt. I started sobbing again and he was crying, too, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to feel anything again if I couldn’t feel his arms around me and his tears on my shoulder.

 

11 November 1618

I just blurted the whole thing to Catherine today and she actually offered to do my job for a few days until I felt a bit better. I so wanted to take her up on the offer, but I also don’t want to leave her with all my work for days. She also suggested I talk to Agnes. I don’t think I have the courage.

I found some of his old clothes mixed in with mine today and I just can’t stop thinking about him. He can’t be dead, but he is…it’s just too much to take in. He can’t be dead. It’s a long nightmare. It has to be.

 

12 November 1618

I broke down in tears at work today and I couldn’t do anything about it. Agnes asked what the hell was wrong with me and I told her my baby died and she sent me home. I don’t know if she’s had children die, but I think she must know how it feels, because she told me not to come back for two weeks. It’s the best gift she could offer.

I spent the day curled up on my bed with that stuffed bear he loved that’s as big as he was. My pillow is damp with tears and still, all I can feel is numb.

 

13 November 1618

I’ve barely spoken a word since and I can tell I’m worrying Sigmun and my friends, but speech is just so hard. I can barely think straight. Every moment just gets longer and I know talking is supposed to help, but I don’t want to make it worse for my husband and my friends. I’m sure they’d tell me I’m being ridiculous, but I just can’t speak.

I barely got out of bed today. I wish Sigmun would stop all his searching, because I can see it’s wearing him down, but he won’t, no matter how ragged he runs himself.

 

14 November 1618

I managed to speak today. It was after dinner and I was sitting on the bed, motionless except for sobs, and I felt Sigmun put an arm around my shoulders and hug me close to him. I curled up like a child and I couldn’t stop the silent tears and of course he was crying, too. So I hugged him and rested my head on his chest and we just held each other for such a long time and all I could think of was how much I missed my little Luke.

“I miss him,” I said, and my voice was rough and crackly from lack of use and tears.

“I do, too.”

“Why? Why him? Why us? Why any of this?”

“I don’t know. I’ve been asking myself the same thing.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I don’t know. Just promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Never cry yourself to sleep again, okay? Wake me up or something.”

“You’ve got things to do.”

“I don’t care. I’m not sleeping anyways.”

“Then you tell me when you can’t sleep!”

“Fine.”

“Do…Do you remember when he was ten months old and he slept through the night and you woke me up because you thought something was wrong?”

“And then he did wake up and we both just sighed and you made me help him sleep again?”

“It was your turn.”

He smiled and I giggled rather weakly, even though I was still crying.

“Promise me something?” I asked.

“What?”

“Every night, before we go to bed, let’s talk. Okay?”

“Of course, but why?”

“We can’t just not talk about this and hope it’ll go away.”

“Alright.”

I hope we can talk tonight and maybe ease a little of this huge grief.

 

15 November 1618

I fell asleep in his arms for the first time since that awful day and his heartbeat helped me sleep, because I haven’t been sleeping much. I can’t sleep, not with the nightmares. They’ve returned with vengeance, making up for all those times I slept through the night. I dream about it again and again, that moment he…he died, his lips blue and his face tired and his body cold. I live it again and again, his last labored breath. I can’t stop. I can’t. 

 

16 November 1618

I just cried today all day and I know it’s bad for me but all I wanted was to cry and never stop. It just hurts too much. Everything does. 

 

17 November 1618

It’s so quiet in at home. Simonn’s always at work and Dolora’s trying to take care of all of us but I can see her hands shaking and Sigmun’s spending all his time trying to find a job but I found fragments of a vase he used to keep on our desk wrapped up in cloth and I know he didn’t knock it of the desk on accident like he’ll pretend later. I might throw things if I wasn’t so afraid of making it worse for my family. 

No one’s had to cook more stew since he died because none of us are eating. 

 

18 November 1618

We’ve been talking, at least a little, but tonight we just cried. I couldn’t stop crying and Sigmun was crying too, and I hate that this is all so hard. I hate that all of this happened. What was the point of having and loving my baby so much and then watching him die? What was the point?

Simonn would say there is no point and much as he’s probably right I don’t want to believe it. 

 

19 November 1618

I felt so guilty today. I mean, I was taking care of him, it must be something I did. We shouldn’t have taken him to the village, especially not in the fall during a festival, shouldn’t have had friends over, shouldn’t have weaned him early, shouldn’t have…I don’t know. But it must be something we did, something I did. Something. 

 

20 November 1618

I know we should move his crib and all his things out of our room, but the idea of moving his things makes it seem too real. I don’t even know where we’d put them. I suppose in the little closet downstairs where Dolora keeps odds and ends like that. I just don’t want to get rid of all his clothes and toys and all the things he loved. I can’t bear to. 

Simonn’s still working his long hours, even though I tried to talk him out of it, but Dolora’s not shaking so much anymore. She’s not eating much, either, but she’s not shaking so much anymore. And I think Sigmun might’ve burned off some his anger because today he stayed home with me and we talked things over. I suppose it helped. 

I still couldn’t feel his arms around me and if I can’t feel that I’m scared I’ll never feel anything else. 

 

21 November 1618

I know I have to go back to work soon and I guess I’m just hoping I can throw myself into it the way Simonn does and maybe just stop thinking for a little while. I’m scared to forget my baby. I know that’s preposterous considering how much I loved him but I’m so scared that I’ll forget him. I find myself reliving the past fourteen months over and over and over again, like they’ll disappear if I stop thinking about them. 

Dolora told me that it’s normal to not feel much of anything but I still worry it will never go away. 

 

22 November 1618

I found myself praying once more yesterday, pleading with God to fix things. I don’t know what I want from God, but I suppose it’s…the strength to keep moving, perhaps? I know my baby can’t come back, much as it hurts me to think. But I can’t stand how much it hurts. I don’t even know if I can call it hurting when it feels so numb, but that’s how I feel. 

 

23 November 1618

Sigmun and I talked for hours today about everything, about Luke and about loss and about how much we loved him and how much we miss him. Sigmun told me he feels guilty because he was taking care of Luke, he should’ve done something. And I told him I feel guilty about it because I was holding him in the village and I should’ve known not to take him there. And I guess it helped, because if nothing else it’s become clear to me that this was not my fault. 

 

24 November 1618

Simonn stopped his insane hours because his boss made him and so he was home today and he told me about losing his siblings and his parents and he told me the best thing to do is to keep breathing, and to do what feels right. 

And I’m such a mess that I started crying again and Simonn hugged me and he gave me a picture of Luke and said it might help, said that it helps to remember. He knows grief, and the last thing he told me was that it would never feel the same but in the end there is always hope. Always hope. 

 

25 November 1618

Is there always hope? I’m not sure these days. 

 

26 November 1618

I had to go back to work today. I felt together enough to sew my buttonholes like normal but Catherine could tell I still don’t feel good. I hardly feel human. I hardly feel anything at all. I just want to feel okay again. I want to feel like I did before all this happened. I want to feel sane again. 

 

27 November 1618

Since Sigmun’s been staying home alone he’s been making dinner and all that but today he just sat in a chair all day and when I came home he was still holding a knife. 

“Sigmun!”

“Huh?”

I grabbed the knife away from him and held it as far as I could. “You can’t!”

“Can’t what? Can’t chop things? I promise I’m not that tired.”

“You can’t--can’t--you can’t die too!” 

“I…I wasn’t going to! I promise! I just got lost in thought and I forgot! I wasn’t going to…oh, please, I’m sorry…” I was crying and I dropped the knife and I hugged him and I’m sure I sounded hysterical and ridiculous, but I was so scared to lose him, too. 

“No, no, it’s alright. I’m sorry. I just panicked.”

“Well, I wasn’t going to. I promise.” 

I nodded and it was a strange weight off my shoulders, like there was one more thing that was going to be okay someday. 

 

28 November 1618

I talked to Simonn again today and I asked him if he ever felt normal again, if he ever felt the same. And he said no. 

“I mean…I never felt the same after any of them. After my mother and father. But…a new normal, I suppose. Like…you live with the loss, and then it stops hurting and you start feeling a different kind of normal.” 

“What?”

“Do you think I could ever forget them? Any of them? I couldn’t…not ever. But it’s been two years. Thinking about them…it doesn’t hurt so much anymore.” 

“Really?”

He nodded. “Simonn, I really do love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Maybe I never will feel normal again. But maybe…maybe someday it won’t make me feel like I’m dying. 

 

29 November 1618

My husband and I went to our baby’s grave today. We put wildflowers on it and talked to him a little and I’d like to think that if there is an afterlife he could see us, still caring and still loving him. 

 

30 November 1618

At work Catherine told me that she’d be stopping by with some stew later if that was alright, and I told her of course. It’s kind of her to make us dinner right now. I could use something like that. I don’t even know how I manage to get out of bed most mornings. I don’t even feel it when I prick my fingers on my needles. I don’t know how I’ll survive. I just know that I will, because there are many things in this world I would do but I will never be the one to end my life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to formally apologize for the title of this chapter.


	37. Chills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snow falls with endless sadness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about this! My job just started up again (it's seasonal) and we've been understaffed and between that and standardized tests I've had no time. 
> 
> It's also really hard to write heavy stuff like this. 
> 
> Warnings for grief, school shootings, and lynching in this chapter.

3 December 1618

He would be fifteen months old today. It’s almost unbelievable. It hasn’t even been a month. My whole body aches when I wake up most mornings and I have no idea how I make it through my work days. I really don’t know. 

 

5 December 1618

I was talking with my love last night and he said something that just really felt good to hear. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever feel better.”

“What?”

“I don’t think it’ll ever go away.” 

“Of course it won’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I don’t think it ever stops hurting. I think it stops hurting quite so much. Or…it stops being all the time.”

“I hope so.” 

“Me too.” 

“It’s nice to know you don’t think it’ll go away, either.”

“Yeah,” he mused. “I just can’t…can’t imagine forgetting him. Not when I loved him so much.”

“I can’t either.” 

He sighed and rested his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. I thought I saw him shake his head. “I just can’t get my head around it.” 

We sat there in silence with tea until Dolora came home and I stood to make dinner. I don’t know how I manage to keep from dropping everything I touch and I found myself trying to find some plain broth to feed Luke before I remembered I don’t have to. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. 

I felt like screaming because none of us said at much at dinner and I wanted to say something but I couldn’t think of anything because I just couldn’t think. There was a part of me that wanted to scream. 

 

7 December 1618

Dolora tried to tell me we’d move his crib today, put his things away in storage and all that, but her voice choked and she almost started crying and I’ve never seen Dolora cry before--she’s all but my mother--and I couldn’t stand it so I went up to my room and I cried on my own again. 

I think there’s something wrong with me. I’m afraid something is broken so deep down I’ll never fix it. 

 

10 December 1618

I had a horrible dream last night--worse than usual, considering I haven’t slept the night through since my little Luke died--and I woke up crying, reaching out for my love. I needed him so much right then, I needed to know he was alive. I don’t want to recite the dream but suffice it to say the fact that his skin was still on his bones and his blood was still in his body was enough to calm me down. If Luke had been there I would’ve needed to check on him too. It was…I haven’t had a nightmare that bad since that day in March all those years ago. I hope I never have one so bad again. 

 

12 December 1618

I’m usually the only person in the house who wakes up screaming, and even that’s only happened a few times since I moved in with them (it’s mostly crying now). So I’ve never before appreciated how terrifying it can be. 

My love woke up last night in the middle of the night with the most heart-wrenchingly terrifying scream I’ve ever heard. I woke up and I saw him sitting up in bed, taking heaving breaths and crying. 

“Dianna! Dianna, are you okay?” He threw the blankets aside and got out of bed. 

“What are you doing?”

“I need to know if Mama and Simonn are okay!” 

“What on Earth is going on?” 

He ran out of the room and I heard him run into Simonn’s room. 

“Simonn! Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine.” 

He ran into Dolora’s room and I was still half-asleep and confused. “Mama, are you okay?”

“I’m fine, little love. What’s going on?”

“Just a nightmare.” I heard him take one of those steadying breaths he takes. “Goodnight.” 

He said goodnight to Simonn and walked back into our room. 

“Sigmun, what on Earth was that?”

He took yet another deep breath and sat back in bed. “I dreamed we were all in a school. I think it was a school, I mean, in the dream I knew I was in school. Mama was a teacher and we were all in school. We were all doing a worksheet--that’s what they called it in the dream, a piece of paper with math problems on it. Mama was helping me, because I didn’t understand a problem. And then I heard a scream, and I looked because I was confused, and someone ran through the door with--well, it didn’t look like a rifle, but in the dream I knew it was a gun, a big gun that was black and shiny--and started shooting. Mama tried to stop him but he shot her and she fell, and I saw you and Simonn and everyone die and then he shot me, too, and I was so scared…it was awful.”

“Who would ever bring a gun to a school? Who would--who would ever kill children?” 

“I don’t know. I just knew that it was bad, and I was scared. I was so scared.” 

“I’m sorry. But we’re all okay. I promise. We’re all here, and we’re all still alive. No guns, no worksheets, no schools. Certainly no schools.” 

He nodded. “I know.” He sighed and collapsed onto me. Slowly as I could, I lied down with him in my arms. I held him to my chest and smoothed his hair as I whispered to him that we were all okay, everything was okay, and I loved him. He was shaking so hard it scared me. 

“I love you,” he whispered, like it was the most important thing he’d ever say. 

“I love you too,” I promised, and he fell asleep in my arms. 

 

14 December 1618

I just keep seeing his crib and remember he’s never going to lie there again and it just keeps hurting. It doesn’t stop; it’s relentless. I can’t even will myself to keep breathing sometimes. I don’t know how I make it to work, because I don’t even talk to Catherine much anymore. I hear Sigmun stomping around upstairs whenever I come home and even though he pretends he’s not still angry I can tell he is. It’s too quiet these days around the house and I know it’s never going to be the same but I wish it didn’t hurt so very much. 

I didn’t talk last night. I just cried and I think my love cried too but it was hard to tell because I could barely tell that I was crying. I can’t feel a thing besides pain. 

 

16 December 1618

Tonight at dinner Simonn finally just asked, “When are we going to move the crib?” 

I looked up at him, because we’ve hardly spoken over dinner in a month, and said, “I don’t know.” 

“It can’t stay there forever.” 

“Where will we put it?” Sigmun asked. 

“The closet under the stairs,” Dolora said, gesturing. “I believe there will be enough room for everything in there.” 

I nodded even though I could barely stand to think about our room without the crib in it. And after dinner Simonn helped me carry the crib downstairs and we all folded his clothes and put them in it with his toys and that stuffed bear he loved so much and when Dolora closed the door I had the strangest feeling, like we were abandoning him but at the same time letting go of something too big to hold on to. 

 

17 December 1618

Simonn and I talked more today and it was so nice to just sit there and babble at him even though I could tell he was tired. 

“What was it like? When they died?”

“Well…I guess for Isabella it was hard because I had to do everything. Hell, I had to make them write Isabella instead of Isaac even though she was baptized as Isaac.”

“Well, she was too young to explain she was Isabella then.” 

“Exactly. You know, when they named her Isaac, I really thought I was wrong, and all my dreams were just lucky guesses. Or…maybe I hoped that. But then she was four and she asked me how come she had a boy’s name if she wasn’t really sure she was a boy…It was a pain explaining that to everyone. I mean…it’s just…little things like that. You know? Christopher needed a special small coffin. My mother was so sick they almost didn’t let her into the cemetery.” He was crying, but not that violent visible way. Just quiet tears trickling down his cheeks. “Thomas wouldn’t leave the house when my father died but I needed to get him to the funeral.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. If there’s anyone who’s seen death it’s me.” 

I nodded. “I miss him.”

“Me too. That doesn’t go away.”

“What does?”

“The stabbing pain at the very thought of them.” He sighed, heavy and tired. “It never…it’s never the same. I don’t think I’m the same person I was before my parents and Isabella. We’re not going to be the same. But…the day comes when you’re more glad that it happened than sad that it ended.” 

“If you say so.” 

“I do say so. I promise.” 

I nodded and held my cup of tea tighter. Most of the heat was gone but I was just so tired and so sad. “I can’t feel much of anything,” I admitted. 

“It fades.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You remember when we were nine? And Maggie died?”

“Yes.” 

“I didn’t feel anything for months. It went away.” 

“Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

And I felt some strange twinge of gratitude and I think maybe I’m not so broken I can’t be fixed. 

 

20 December 1618

Today it snowed. It’s been snowing a lot lately but I noticed it today. It was quiet and light and it coated everything with a layer of sugar and it was peaceful, so calm I almost felt it. I used to pretend angels made snowflakes and I wonder if my little Luke is making snowflakes--he did love to play with pieces of paper. I’m not always sure I believe in heaven and angels and I’m even less sure about hell but I’d like to think my baby boy is safe and happy somewhere. 

 

22 December 1618

It was so cold today when I walked to work. I think I felt it because the numbness is like a sort of cold reaching deep down to my bones. But when I sleep curled up with my husband I feel something akin to warmth, something that might be warmth if I wasn’t so cold. 

I remember how warm Luke was in my arms and I wonder if I could ever feel that again. 

 

23 December 1618

Catherine brought over a big bowl of stew today and when I asked why she asked why I hadn’t said anything for two weeks. I apologized to her because it’s not her fault, I just can’t do this. I can hardly think straight sometimes and I found another broken dish wrapped in cloth and Dolora spilled stew and Simonn is never home and I need to confront him--Sigmin--about the dishes but I’m so tired. I just want to have a rest from always hurting but it doesn’t go away. 

 

25 December 1618

It was not a happy Christmas. We had food but no one was in the mood for presents, even though it’s not quite as dark as it was. Simonn usually pretends everything’s alright but he wasn’t and it was kind of nice because I knew I wasn’t the only one still reeling. (Well, obviously Sigmun is, but I knew that already). 

I watched the snow falling again today and it was so calming to see. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because when I watch it snow I can pretend when it melts things will be different. 

 

28 December 1618

He had another nightmare last night, but not a screaming one. He woke me up in the middle of the night and said, “Dianna? Are you awake?”

“I am now.” 

“I had another nightmare…” 

“What about?”

“I’m not sure. I was walking home from work--I worked at a university--and I was carrying some books, and suddenly a bunch of men grabbed me and started beating me up. I don’t know why. I wasn’t me, either, I was taller and my skin was different. I think it was darker, but it was dark so I’m not sure. I thought that wasn’t a problem in the future!” He shoved his fingers through his hair like he does. “And then they dragged me down a street and they…they hanged me. And it hurt so bad…I didn’t know anything could hurt so much. I couldn’t breathe, and I could feel myself bleeding, dying…and I knew I had to get home to you--you didn’t look like you but I just knew it was you--and our children, but…I didn’t. I died. And then I woke up.”

“Oh my goodness.”

“It was awful,” he said, crossing his arms like he was hugging himself. “They just…they hated me. They hated me so much. I don’t even know why. They just…they did. I thought things were better in the future! In the old dreams there wasn’t any hate or anything, we were all happy and it was better, things were better! Hell, you worked at a university!” 

“Sh, you’ll wake everyone,” I said, hugging him close. “Maybe there are just people that hate because they can. Or they don’t know how to love properly. Or they’re being swept along by one bad person. I bet in the future most people are good.” 

“I reckon most people are good now. They just don’t know it yet.” 

And with that he fell right back asleep like nothing had happened, and I curled up with my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat so maybe I could keep breathing. 

 

31 December 1618

A new year. Another year of living knowing that my baby boy is dead and gone and I can never hold him in my arms again, I can never kiss his forehead and tell him I love him again. I tried to find his grave but it’s buried under all this snow, and there’s no flowers to leave there anyways, just words. 

I tried to pray because sometimes I just feel like it helps and I suppose it did but it’s hard to believe something so bad could happen when I think I am a good person, and I know my love is. The snow keeps falling and burying everything, all the paths and roads and homes. 

I suppose I’m not starting the new year alone, though. It makes me feel less alone, and gives me hope that it’s not hopeless, that all that grief I’ve been sorting through isn’t endless, and that maybe I’ll see my little one again someday.

I hope so. I have nothing else to hope for anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I've missed any tags in any chapters someone please tell me. I really want to make sure I don't forget anything!


	38. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is a rocky road

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is still very dark, very grief-heavy. Warning for Holocaust mentions. 
> 
> I'd also like to formally apologize for being so bad about posting. I'm working lots of hours and studying for standardized tests, but that should all ease off soon.

3 January 1619

He would be sixteen months old today. I bet he’d be talking, too, saying our names as best as he could and listening to us read to him and learning his own name. He’d be walking more, too, starting to actually get around better than toddling. He’d probably be throwing fits, too, but I think he’d be sweet otherwise. He was always close to one of us, could barely stand not to be touching someone, would crawl on anyone’s lap if they sat still long enough. He loved sitting on my lap when I read to him. I remember when he’d take naps lying on Sigmun’s chest while Sigmun would just look at him with the mixture of befuddlement and unconditional love. 

I miss him so very much. 

 

7 January 1619

I finally confronted him about the broken dishes. I know I should’ve done it earlier, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. 

“Sigmun.”

“Hm?”

“Found this in the desk drawer.” I held up the pieces of a plate wrapped in scrap cloth. 

“Huh,” he said. “And…?”

“And you’re a bad liar.” 

“What do you mean?” he asked cautiously. 

“I mean I want to know why you’ve been breaking things and hiding them!” 

He dropped his head. “I didn’t want you to know,” he said. “I was just…I was really angry and I had to do something and so I broke that vase and some dishes…and I didn’t want you to know.”

“You had to know I’d find out.” 

“I did, but I didn’t want to.” 

“My love, why--?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “I just don’t know anymore.” 

He started crying again, and it was so hopeless and so awful that I held him close to me and we cried together once more. 

 

12 January 1619

I keep forgetting to write. Am I sad? Am I scared? Am I trying to believe this is a dream, because I do not write in my dreams? Or am I just forgetting things? Will I forget the curl of his blond hair, the sound of his laughter, the feel of my baby boy’s tiny weight in my arms, the feeling in my heart when he reached for me like I was his guardian, his mother? 

I failed. I failed him. I should have protected him, should’ve kept him safe, should’ve kept him alive. I was his mother. I was supposed to keep him safe. I know I failed. I know that no matter what I do I failed my baby boy when he needed me most. 

 

14 January 1619

I contemplated opening the closet under the stairs today, but I decided against it. Mostly because Dolora was looking at me like she knew what I was thinking, but also because I guess I knew it would be bad for me. I can’t keep trying to bring him back by staring at his clothes and toys, much as I wish I could. I can only cry and mourn and pray and hope that someday I’ll see him again. 

I still dream he’s there. I still wake up thinking I have to dress him and kiss him goodbye before I go to work, and sometimes when I open the door coming I half-expect to hear Sigmun coaxing him to walk across the floor, scooping up our baby and kissing his forehead and telling him how good he’s been doing when he makes it. I know it’s not healthy, but I can’t help it. I miss him. 

 

17 January 1619

Catherine offered to bring over more food today at work, because she said she knew how it felt. I don’t know if she does considering she’s never been married, but I appreciate the thought. It’s nice to know she cares. 

Neolla and Mariek were also in town today. I haven’t seen Mariek with Sumner in a while and I wonder if Mariek is still with Sumner or if she’s with Neolla. I know Neolla doesn’t quite look at men or women the way Mariek or I do, but I know she does like romance. I think they’d be good for each other; they balance each other out and they make each other happy. 

I found one of his onesies in my drawer and it just made me feel like crying again. It was a new one Sigmun sewed for him when Luke started outgrowing his old one. I wish he’d had a chance to wear it. 

 

22 January 1619

I’ve never drunk a drop before in my life but I considered it today. Dolora keeps alcohol around the house, mostly for pain but also to thin blood, and I found myself holding a bottle today and wondering if I’d ever drink it. I almost did but then Simonn came home in a very emphatic fashion (he threw the door open and shouted, “I’m home!” and then slammed the door again) and I almost dropped the bottle (I didn’t) and started on dinner. 

I don’t know if I would. I refuse point-blank to ever be like my mother. I remember the way Sigmun was when he was drunk (he’s drunk since, but that time really stands up because he hasn’t been properly drunk since). I don’t want to end up like that. But I’m just so sad. I really don’t know. 

 

24 January 1619

We went to his grave today but it was buried in snow and we couldn’t find it. I know where it is, or where it’s supposed to be, but the snow kept us from finding exactly where it was. So I took the winter flowers back home and put them in a vase with water so we can take them back later, when the snow is gone and I can find his gravestone again. 

 

27 January 1619

I think this is the coldest winter yet. I’m not sure if it’s cold because of absolute and unquestionable low temperatures or if it’s because I feel so cold. Normally I’d ask Simonn but I think he’s cold, too. I think we’re all cold. 

I wonder how I could possibly be warm again after this. It’s been almost three months and still I can hardly breathe. I wonder if I’ll ever breathe normally again. 

 

1 February 1619

I’m considering talking to Sigmun about having another baby, because I don’t want to, not yet. I don’t want to touch him any more than a kiss (I don’t know why, I just don’t feel like it. Nothing to do with him), but I don’t feel as repulsed by touch as I did, so I assume that someday the issue will arise. I just don’t know. I’ve wanted children for a long time, but I don’t know if I still do. I don’t know if I want to risk it again. I also don’t know if there’s any way to avoid having children. 

I could ask Mariek. Maybe some day I will. But right now I just want to figure out how I’ll ever feel normal again when my baby is gone. 

 

3 February 1619

Seventeen months old. Almost a year and a half. He’d really be talking by now, probably starting to ask for things as best as he could. He’d be walking enough to scare us and we’d be putting everything dangerous on high cabinets to keep him safe. Sigmun would be teaching him new words and reading to him and singing him rhymes like I used to and taking him to the stream to play with water in bowls (Dolora says it teaches spatial something-or-other). He’d probably be fussy sometimes like toddlers are but he’d be a cared for little boy with a loving family, and I know we’d be giving him the best we could. 

 

3 March 1619

Eighteen months. A full year and a half. 

I wonder how I lost my journal for a whole month. 

Simonn asked me if he could borrow my pen today and I gave it to him. I saw him write a letter, seal it, and write the address. Except the address was ours, and he dated for a year from today. I don’t understand. I’m not sure I want to. 

 

8 March 1619

I was walking in Shepard’s Alley today, much as I hate to, when this man came up behind me and I felt his breath and I heard him say something vile and horrible I’d rather never repeat so I elbowed him in the gut. When he doubled over (I got lucky there) I pinched his ear like my mother used to and whispered as menacingly as I could, “I have a six inch butcher knife in my bag. Do you want to know what I can do to you with a six inch butcher knife?”

I let go of his ear and he shook his head and left, looking at me like I was mad. I don’t particularly care if he thought I was mad. I still feel a little mad sometimes from grief, and I don’t have the energy to put up with men like him anymore.

It’s a good thing he didn’t ask to see the knife. I forgot it at home.

 

11 March 1619

I suppose some of the numb is starting to go away. I wince when my needle pricks my fingers. But in some ways the stabbing feeling of sadness and loss and grief is only getting stronger, because now there’s nothing keeping it cold and numb. I think sometimes I might drown in it all, because I wake up these mornings with that familiar heavy weight on my chest that keeps me from breathing except in the most limited of capacities. 

I wonder if I’ll ever breathe like normal again, or if this is a new knot to untangle so the ropes can dangle among the rest of my heartstrings, much the way it was with my mother. 

I hope my little Luke has someone to take care of him in the next life, where or whatever it may be. 

 

14 March 1619

I felt happy today for the first time in months. I still think of Luke every moment, and I still miss him, but today when Catherine told me a joke, I laughed. When Sigmun rested his arm around my shoulders, I felt the weight and the warmth and it stirred something inside me, like all those years ago when he first came to my house with a letter. I don’t know if I can say I felt normal, but for just a moment I felt something, and that something was good. 

 

18 March 1619

We went to his grave today, Sigmun and I, and we put those old flowers on his gravestone. I found myself talking to him, very quietly, just telling him I loved him and I missed him and I hoped he was safe on the other side. I asked him if he was happy, if someone was taking care of him until we can meet him again. I hope if there is an afterlife, someone, some angel or guardian, is taking care of my baby. 

Simonn says he believes in an afterlife, and Sigmun does, and I try to. I just find myself doubting sometimes. Simonn leaves flowers on Luke’s grave sometimes, red and blue, and I think he knows that it helps to see someone else still looking out for our little Luke. 

 

23 March 1619

Sigmun had one of those nightmares last night. He woke up crying and shook me awake and it was the strangest thing. 

“Dianna, wake up!”

“Hm…what is it, love?”

“I had…another one. Another dream.”

“What of?”

“I…I was in a big box, a big wooden box, and the box was moving and shaking. I was with all of you and it was taking us somewhere. When we got there they took our wedding rings, they took everything…they took us away from each other. I was with Simonn and Sumner. You and Mama and Hannah and Neolla and I think Mariek went somewhere else…and then they…they just took everything. Tall people, these uniforms like guard uniforms but sharper, somehow. And then they took Sumner away and said to go in this room for showers--they took all our clothes, I was wearing a red shirt that was a gift from you Christmas five years ago--”

“What?”

“I knew that in the dream.”

“Oh.”

“And then it started to smell like…well, sort of like when we had almonds that one time, but different. Worse. I felt dizzy and my head hurt and I was nauseous and I tried to get out but then the dizziness got worse and people were falling around me and I saw Simonn fall and I realized he was dead…and then I fell and the world was spinning and I woke up.”

“What on Earth?”

“I think someone suffocated me with a gas. In the dream I knew there was gas.” 

“I’m so sorry.” 

He shrugged. “They hated us. In the dreams they always hate me, but they hated the rest of us too. They hated us for being born in the wrong place, the wrong religion, the wrong skin color, the wrong way to love…everything that makes us special made them hate us. And they hated us more because we got mad that they hated us” He sighed and his shoulders drooped forwards and I reached out to hold him close because he was crying and shivering and breathing much too hard. I held him close and smoothed his hair and he just kept saying it, over and over. “They hated us.” 

“My love, I think you should get some sleep. Think it over in the morning.”

“I suppose.”

“Have you told Dolora and Simonn?”

“No…”

“Maybe you should. They might know something you or I don’t.”

He nodded vaguely. “D’you mind if I…if I…?” He yawned and nuzzled my neck. 

“Of course, love.” I held him close to me and we fell asleep like that, cuddled close and safe. 

I’m just glad my baby wasn’t in that dream. The ones where Luke dies leave me shaking and scared until I can’t sleep, even as my love sleeps. 

 

27 March 1619

I had my own nightmare last night of the usual: my mother, that day in March in 1614 (that shiver down my spine will never disappear, I think), my baby’s death. I dream sometimes about killing my family, that is, about someone taking me over so I watch as they use me to kill them. I would never tell them, but I’m so scared. I don’t know why I dream that, and now that those dreams include watching myself kill my little Luke, it’s worse than ever. 

I don’t think these nightmares will ever get better anymore. I think I’ll just live the rest of my life dreaming every night of death and pain and blood and loss. They were better for a while but now…never less than two a night. 

I wonder if my baby would have nightmares. If he’d cry and be scared and if it would help him if we held him. I wonder if he’d sleep better knowing his parents were looking out for him. 

I think if my parents had been looking out for me, I certainly would.


	39. Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Old friends reconcile in a variety of ways

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the Vietnam War (sort of) in this chapter. 
> 
> Sorry for the unannounced break! I've had finals and work and on top of that a killer head cold so it's been crazy. But after this I have summer free to write so there should be a new chapter every two weeks if not every week.

3 April 1619

Nineteen months old. He’d be nineteen months old. I can’t believe it. I’d write more if I wasn’t afraid of blurring the words with my tears. 

 

5 April 1619

We received an invitation today. A boy, one of the palace messengers (usually they’re messengers before they’re guards), came to the door and handed us a letter on fancy paper, with gold and pink on it everywhere. Candas’s style. It invited us to a palace function in July, celebrating her father’s birthday. I don’t know why she invited us. She’s been around town more than usual lately, with Orvill (who I avoid at almost all costs) and Grantt (who I try very hard to be nice to even though he’s frightening and strange). Usually they visit with Patrik (who I also try to talk to sometimes because we were close when we were children and I know most others don’t like him), and with us. Orvill grumps about the tea because it’s not the high-quality tea of the palace, but I’ve had some of their tea and I think it’s bland. 

I think that’s the longest I’ve written about something other than my baby boy in months. At least the idea of the palace and all that is taking my mind off things for a little bit. 

I assume we’ll go, but I’m going to ask Candas about it next time we’re in town. I don’t trust her very much, to be frank. 

 

9 April 1619

Patrik met me at work today, as I was leaving. I asked him why and he said he’d like to walk me home. I let him and we chatted about things. He didn’t ask about my little Luke, even though he must know, and I appreciate that because I can’t stand to talk about it when there’s people watching me cry. We just chatted about nonsense until we got to my home and I asked him again why he’d walk me home. He just said he’d like to make sure I’m safe. 

We visited Luke’s grave today and planted some forget-me-nots. I’ll never forget him. I used to pretend when someone died they grew back as a forget-me-not. I wonder if Luke will grow back as a forget-me-not so even when we are long gone, someone will remember him. 

 

12 April 1619

I think the last of the snow has melted. It always stays a long time into April, but it’s starting to melt now. I only noticed because there’s a pile of snow I pass on the way home and Patrik pointed it out today, that it was gone (he walks home with me every day now). 

“The snow has melted.”

“I suppose it has.” 

“Do you think it will rain soon?”

“Patrik, you don’t have to make conversation if you don’t want to.” 

“Oh.” 

He stopped talking. 

“If I would like to make conversation--”

“Go ahead.” 

So we conversed about the weather for the rest of the walk. I feel like he’s trying to make amends for how awful he was to us. I remember when I was fifteen and I saw him in the market and I called out and he looked down his nose at me and told me he didn’t speak to peasants. 

Sigmun and I talked about little Luke today and it hurt, but there was a little lightness to it. I cried, but at the same time remembering him made me smile a little. It hurts, still, like being stabbed, because now that the numbness is lightening it hurts that much more. And it hurts because I wish so very much I could have him back, I want him back in my arms so I could hold him and tell him I love him, and I want to raise him like I should have. I still…I still think I failed him. I should’ve protected him. I should’ve kept him safe. I should’ve. 

 

16 April 1619

I swore I wouldn’t be like my mother, I promised I’d never be like her, but I am like her. I didn’t protect my baby. My mother never protected me, and I didn’t protect my little Luke. I’m no better than her. I’m just as bad as she was. 

I started crying today when Sigmun was in the library and Dolora was in town and Simonn was cooking. I was alone upstairs and I cried because I failed and I’m just as bad as my mother and I’m so sorry but I can’t do anything now. I can’t. 

 

17 April 1619

Simonn was awake downstairs last night again. I can’t sleep very much these days and I heard him making tea. 

“Simonn?” I said once I’d gotten down the stairs and into the kitchen. 

“It won’t go away!” 

“What?”

“It won’t go away! I keep dreaming about…about us dying! It’s not fair, nothing is fair!”

“Simonn, what are you dreaming about?”

“I don’t know!” 

“Here, your tea’s done.”

“Thanks.” 

We sat in silence, and Simonn was shaking all over. “It’s not fair,” he said again. “In the dream. Sigmun is screaming and there’s cold hands and chains and I can’t see and I hear Dolora scream, I hear you talk and then…and then nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“My head goes all funny and I can’t understand anything and I can’t see…it’s awful.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I just…it’s not fair!” 

“Nothing is fair,” I said, and it felt true. Nothing is fair. If things were fair my little Luke would still be alive. 

He shook his head. “Go to bed. I’ll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?”

“I just need to sort it out.” 

He seemed calm enough to not do something stupid (he doesn’t talk about it much but I am dead certain he drank his way through this at least once) so I went back upstairs and tried not to think about how nothing is fair. 

I’m running out of pages. This is the last one. I need to find my next journal. I can’t stop writing now. 

 

29 April 1619

I found the new journal, quite obviously. I don’t have to stop writing. 

I asked Patrik today about why he never came in for tea. I’ve invited him every time and he always turns me down. 

“I feel it would not be appropriate.”

“Why not? You’re my friend.”

He glanced down at his shoes and I felt something akin to anger. 

“If you’ve been walking me home because you’re trying to court me may I remind you I am married and I had a child and if that’s the only reason you were ever kind to me--”

“No, no!” he said. “I do not believe your family would enjoy my company. That is all.” 

“Patrik, if you’re my friend you’re theirs. That’s how it works.” 

He kept looking at his shoes. “Perhaps another time. My uncle is expecting me home.”

“Alright. See you, Patrik.”

“Goodbye.” 

He’s ridiculously formal and I don’t know if he still feels guilty or if it’s just the way he talks. I suspect sometimes English isn’t his first language. Perhaps my multilingual abilities aren’t the most common but most nobility speak more than one language. Perhaps no one taught him English first. 

It is also somewhat a relief to find he’s not trying to court me, because much as I’d like to make friends with men, for the most part it seems they only give me the time of day because they think I’m pretty (yet another reason I prefer my husband and my best friend’s company). It’s nice to know at least one man outside my family just wants to be my friend as much as I want to be his. 

 

3 May 1619

Twenty months old. Almost two years. He’d be getting so big, really a toddler. He’d be playing with new toys, splashing in the creek, starting to pull together a few new words. I bet he’d be starting to learn how to say no, and he’d probably be objecting to learning to eat and other things like children do. He’d be growing up like children do and he’d be learning to play. Maybe we’d even bring him to the village sometimes to play with the other children. I know it’s not healthy for children to grow up without friends, even if they do have parents who love them. 

I couldn’t find my new journal to write in (Even though I found this new journal a few days ago and wrote then, I haven’t felt like writing since. Sometimes I have this horrible feeling of just never wanting to do anything ever again. I just want to lie in bed for the rest of my life). My old one was full and I just can’t remember things the way I used to. I can’t be that old. I can’t be so old I start to forget. I’m not even thirty! 

I missed my last birthday, I think. I know I must be twenty-three but I don’t remember turning twenty-three. I’m going to be twenty-four in August. Luke would’ve been two in September. He should’ve turned two in September. 

Dolora’s going to be thirty-nine. She’s almost forty. I’m so scared of her dying soon. I don’t want to lose her, not now. I’m so scared to lose her when she raised me and taught me how to love myself. I’m so scared to see her die because she should live so much longer, she deserves so much more. 

I can’t stand to lose anyone else. 

 

8 May 1619

I had one of those nightmares last night about being alone, the ones where I wake up and everyone’s gone and I know they’ve left because they don’t care anymore and they didn’t want to tell me because I’m too fragile so they get up and leave me alone. I hate those nightmare so much because they always take my baby with them and I’m left with an empty house and heart. 

I hate these nightmares so much. I wish I wasn’t so scared of losing them. Or, I wish I wasn’t so dependent on their support. Or maybe I just don’t want to face that someday I won’t have them anymore. 

 

11 May 1619

Candas was in town again today so I asked her about the invitation and she told me it was because she wishes we were all better friends. I suppose I wish we were better friends, too, but she scares me a little. (Grantt is scarier but then I don’t think he does it on purpose.) I mean, I wouldn’t mind going to a palace function so I guess we’ll go. Most things don’t feel like much of anything these days. 

I wish so much I could see Luke’s eyes get big when he saw the palace and the city. I bet he’d love it there: so many people to see, so many things to look at, so many foods to try, so many places to play, so many other children to meet. I wish he’d had the chance to make friends. 

 

14 May 1619

It’s odd how Patrik will walk me home every night after work. I might just ask him because I don’t know and I want to know. 

The daisies are in bloom and so are the lilacs and they’re lovely and they smell wonderful but the daisies remind me of Luke playing with flowers Sigmun picked for him. Everything reminds me of my baby. I’m so afraid to forget him but I know I can’t spend my whole life dwelling like this. It’s bad for me. I’m just so scared to forget. 

 

18 May 1619

Candas and her lot have been in town more and more often lately (or, in town for us considering they’re from the city so to them we’re the countryside). It’s odd. I still detest Orvill for what he said back in March when I was younger but he usually doesn’t say things like that anymore. Grantt remains somewhat bizarre and unnerving. Candas is energetic and…unique as ever. I don’t think I like them much. At least Patrik has the decency to only mostly act like he’s superior to us. 

My love hasn’t been breaking things but I notice him fidgeting and playing with little objects like pens and coins whenever he can. Simonn still copes with this sort of thing by not coping but I think having us around is helpful for him. Dolora seems like she’s doing better but I know I can’t be the only one in the world afraid to let people know how much it all hurts. 

 

19 May 1619

I shouldn’t still be crying but last night I found myself bawling again, too sad to do anything but cry. My love held me the way I hold him when he has nightmares and I fell asleep after he did (like always) but I couldn’t bear to move. I’m so scared to lose them. 

 

23 May 1619

At work today Catherine and I had one of those light little conversations we used to have all the time. I miss that. I miss feeling happy. We used to have nice little conversations all the time. Patrik says small talk is useless but I don’t think he understands that it’s got little pieces of deeper things in it. It’s called small talk but no one does quite the same thing and you’d be surprised how much you could learn about a person from their small talk. 

 

25 May 1619

Sigmun had one of his nightmares last night. 

“Love, please wake up.”

“I’m awake.” 

“Thank heaven,” he said, and he let out a breath like he’d never breathed before. “It was another one of those awful nightmares.”

I didn’t say anything because I knew it wouldn’t help. 

“I was in a…it was sort of like a forest, but not. I knew in the dream it was a jungle. I was young, and you and Simonn and I were all playing while Mama made dinner. We worked in the day--we farmed, everyone did--but it was evening so we were playing. These people in green clothes and helmets, with these guns, they came and asked Mama is she was red. And she said no but I don’t know if she was lying or not because they had guns. And then they left and I saw Mama sit down with her head in her hands and I was worried. And then…there was this light, and this huge sound, and everything went funny, and then there was fire everywhere and I was running…and you were--” He choked a little and I almost didn’t want to hear it. “You were in pieces. It was so horrible I couldn’t move and then I caught fire and I screamed and--” He choked again. “I woke up.” 

“Well, I’m all in one piece, for whatever it’s worth.” 

“Quite a lot,” he said, and he turned to lean against me like he does so I held him close and he fell asleep breathing quietly against my chest. 

It’s strange, the way he talks about his nightmares. It’s like he’s the age he was when the dream was happening. I wonder why. 

 

28 May 1619

I have the impression that summer should be warm, and yet it feels chilly and uncomfortable. The trees are turning green and the flowers are blooming and the river is calming somewhat from the snowmelt that flooded it not long ago, but it is not warm like summer should be. At least, I don’t think it is. I find myself doubting my perceptions lately, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps I’m just tired. 

 

31 May 1619

I wonder sometimes about what it might be like to live in the palace. Perhaps if we lived there my baby would still be alive. I don’t think there’s a doctor in the world better than Dolora but there are medicines she laments she can’t afford and I think perhaps if we had them my little Luke would still be here. He’d be sitting on my lap, playing with his new toys, laughing at whatever pleased him until he was tired and sleeping in his cradle. I’d never give up what I have here for their bland-tea life they have but I wish I could have their medicines to keep my baby alive.


	40. Palace and Their Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The palace has its functions and its secrets. So do the others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So guess who forgot about a week-long trip to somewhere with giant wasps and no wifi. 
> 
> This chapter is still pretty dark with the grief.

1 July 1619

I can’t believe it! I lost my journal for a whole month this time. It was just in a drawer, too; I guess I forgot I put it away. Or someone else put it away for me and forgot to tell me. Usually my family knows not to touch my journal but I can imagine Sigmun cleaning and being distracted and forgetting to put it back or tell me. 

I trust they wouldn’t read it but still, the thought makes me nervous. I keep my old ones in the bottom drawer, not locked, and I just trust that my family would ask me. I wouldn’t read their journals if they had them. I guess that’s how it works: sometimes you just have to trust people. 

 

3 July 1619

Twenty-two months. Almost two years old. I always thought if we could just get to a year, then two years, everything would be okay. We just had to get through the first year or two and it would be okay. 

I wish he was here right now. I wish I was writing about how he’s learning new words and how to eat on his own and how to run, and about the other children he plays with, and about how much I love him. I still do love him, but nothing can change that he is not here anymore and he never will be again. I wish for many things but I don’t think I’ve ever wished for something that’s come true. I know most of the things I wish are impossible, but sometimes I need to believe they could happen. 

I think I’m starting to worry some of my coworkers. Not Johanna, of course, but Susan and Catherine and definitely Agnes. I can sew a damn buttonhole, I’ve been making my own clothes since I was seven, but I guess I’ve been making mistakes lately. Agnes seems grumpy but she really is kind under all that, so she just talked to me right before I left and told me to just be more careful. 

 

6 July 1619

When I was walking home with Patrik today he said the strangest thing. 

“Your child. Your son.”

I bit my tongue before I said, “Yes. What about him?”

“Was he a cheerful child?”

“Aren’t they all?” 

He nodded. “I find it odd that you feel the need to be unhappy when your child was happy.”

“I can’t choose to be sad!”

“Certainly not. But I find it odd you feel you must be unhappy.”

“I don’t!”

“I suppose.” 

“I’m not choosing to be sad. I can’t stop being sad.”

“Probably not,” he said, still staring straight ahead like he does. “But someday.” He looked down at his feet, then let out a sort of a sigh. “My mother passed when I was young, and my father is ill. When my mother passed, I was sad. Or perhaps there is a better word in English.”

“Grieving?” I suggested. “Or mourning?”

“Perhaps. I do not know. My tutor did not see it fit to teach me some vernacular words in English.” And yet he knows vernacular. “I was unhappy for a very long time. But later--perhaps a year or somewhat more--I realized I was sad because I believe it was the appropriate thing to do. I have not forgotten my mother but after I was sad, I was sad because I believed it to be the right choice.” 

The sadness still feels awfully endless sometimes and so I said, “I appreciate it but I don’t think I can choose grief right now.”

“Time heals all wounds,” Patrik said, and I had the feeling he was thinking about something else. (There must be a word for that.) 

“I hope so.”

“Myself as well.”

“What is your first language?” Then I added, “I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Not at all. It was German. I much prefer it at times. Your language is complex and words do not flow so easily.”

“We could speak in German if you like.”

He looked at me with something akin to surprise. 

“I speak it,” I said in German. 

He nodded and we walked back to my home in silence. 

 

8 July 1619

We went to the river today. Simonn was able to leave work early and so he and Sigmun (back to job-searching) and I went down to the river like we were children again (where has the time gone?) to swim. It frightens me that I don’t remember when we stopped playing here, when we stopped building rope structures across the waters, when we stopped studying every day instead of working, when we stopped being children. When was that? I know it must be before I was married, but after my mother left. When did we stop being children?

It was odd swimming again, but I liked it. I suppose we’re old enough to be embarrassed about wearing soaking-wet clothes plastered to our skin but I couldn’t summon anything but a sort of nostalgic feeling of something lost at the expense of something gained. And I really doubt there’s much left to be embarrassed about, considering how long I’ve known them and how close I’ve been with Sigmun. 

 

10 July 1619

I hope this counts as progress. I felt that odd wanting feeling again last night, for the first time in months, and I suppose he did too. It was nice, even if I am tired and somewhat numb, still. And of course he had his own commentary. 

“You can certainly curse up a blue streak when you want to, love.”

“You can certainly be frustrating when you want to,” I shot back. 

“Should I apologize?” He said it smiling, and then he kissed my neck. 

“Not if you keep doing that.” 

“Alright, love.” 

I do like the feeling of his kisses on my neck, so I let him continue until we both fell asleep, and I felt comfortable and safe. I felt alright. I forget sometimes that I can feel okay, that I still have all the same feelings I did before all this. It’s easy to forget that I can feel anything but sad sometimes, and even though it’s hard I can feel alright, sometimes. 

When I woke up this morning he had his arms wrapped around me and his heart was beating soft and steady, and it was comfortable. 

 

13 July 1619

I saw Neolla and Mariek today in town, and we chatted for a while about not much. About family and friends and work and all that. Mariek told me again how men were absolutely impossible sometimes, which makes me think she’s back with Sumner (which is odd because she was holding Neolla’s hand the way I hold Sigmun’s). I suppose it’s different when they’re your friends, anyways. I found David’s behavior perfectly confusing and bizarre, but Sigmun and Simonn make perfect sense to me. (Or, at least, as much sense as another human can make.)

 

14 July 1619

Today was my love’s birthday. We were…well, Dolora wanted us to celebrate, said moving on with life is the most important thing but my love and I weren’t really in the mood to celebrate. (I couldn’t tell with Simonn because he was concealing his mood, something he’s been doing more often lately.) We tried for Dolora’s sake and possibly Simonn’s but after we had dinner and all that Sigmun cried. 

I hate to see him cry, so I just held him and tried to calm him, even though I knew I couldn’t. (When I’m like that nothing can calm me.) 

I don’t know, though, if I regret it, because like it or not time marches on and we can’t stop it, much as I wish we could. I wish we could stop time so I could cry for as long as I needed to and no one would be the wiser, except my family. And I trust them. 

 

17 July 1619

We left for the city today. Candas offered us two rooms in the palace, either misunderstanding Simonn and Dolora’s relationship or misunderstanding Sigmun’s and mine. We had four beds--the nice kind, so soft it feels like a cloud--so for the sake of simplicity with Candas and the others, I shared with Dolora and Sigmun shared with Simonn. They have some strange ways of working in the palace, and one of them is the way they sharply divide things by gender. 

Either way, the party is on the twenty-fourth and we leave on the twenty-sixth, except Simonn’s leaving on the twenty-fifth for work. Candas wants us to wear court fashion so we all have to be fitted, or something. I’ve got a nice dress I wear to parties in the village so I’m not sure what exactly she wants from us. But palace etiquette is different from ours, and as long as we’re here I figure we should be polite by their standards. 

Besides the comfortable beds, the stone walls are confining. I don’t know if it’s because there is still a part of me that is afraid of being trapped after what my mother did to me or if it’s because sometimes the sun makes the sadness feel lighter, but the thick stone makes me nervous. It makes me feel trapped. 

I hope I don’t have nightmares tonight. 

 

19 July 1619

I feel awful about it but Simonn had his outfit today and it looked so silly on him! Perhaps I’m used to seeing him in farm clothes (filthy) or his own favorite clothes (clean, but patched, and certainly fine enough), but he looked so uncomfortable and I wanted to laugh. 

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m sorry. But you look silly.”

“So will you!”

“I’m sure. But you’ve seen me in good dresses before.”

“Hoop skirts, though.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” I said. “I don’t even wear a proper bodice.”

He looked confused. 

“I made mine too big. So I can breathe.” 

“Oh.” Then, “You made your own bodice?”

“I altered one I bought. You try making a bodice sometime, see if you like it.”

“I’d rather not, thanks. I’d like to change, actually.”

“Go ahead. We don’t have to dress up until the actual event.”

“It feels weird wearing ‘peasant clothes’ around here,” Simonn said, putting a sort of verbal quotes around “peasant clothes” like someone else was saying it. 

“You look fine in them.”

“I look out of place.”

“Don’t we all. Do you think they were peasant dresses here?”

He shook his head. “I don’t like it here. It gives me a bad feeling.”

“I don’t either. Feels trapped.”

“No, it’s more than that. I feel…I feel like something bad is going to happen here. Not now, though.”

“Simonn, you’re not making a lot of sense.”

“I just feel like we shouldn’t be here. Like this place is dangerous, and it’s going to get worse. Like something awful is going to happen here. Like when I knew about my siblings, like that.” 

“Well, she wouldn’t invite us here to kill us. We haven’t done anything.”

“Hannah--”

“Hannah was never caught stowing away and there’s no way she could be. And she’s not here.”

“Why not? Is that another motive? Separating us from Hannah?”

“Like Candas said. She could only bring four, and Hannah already turned her down. No ulterior motives. Simonn, take a breath. Maybe it’s just the walls.”

“What?”

“The walls. Make me nervous. Too thick, you know. I couldn’t shout and hear you shout back.” 

“On the more optimistic side, I couldn’t hear you and--”

“Hush, there’s people we don’t know around.” 

“I was going to say I couldn’t hear you and Sigmun trying to calm down Luke, Deedee. What were you thinking?” 

“You weren’t going to say that, first off. Second, I think Luke was the loud one, don’t you? Little one had a big pair of lungs.” 

“He certainly did.” Simonn looked at me, a bit oddly, and then said, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“Sore subject.”

“It’s alright,” I said. I felt a little teary, but it was true; Luke could cry loud enough to wake the world. “We can’t pretend like he never existed.” 

“Or, we can, but that would be really unhealthy.”

“I know.” 

“Alright,” he said. “I’m going to go change.”

He’s right, and I know that, even if I’d rather not. 

 

21 July 1619

Today I was fitted for a gown, which consisted of standing very still while someone measured me and made tutting noises, muttering things about an uneven something ratio and what parts of me were better than others and what colors might look good on me. I know I look good in green because it matches my eyes but when I tried to mention that the seamstress shushed me and told me not to worry, she knew I’d been wearing peasant clothes for my whole life so I could just let a proper seamstress do the work this time. What the hell does she think I am? I spend my days sewing buttonholes and I’ve been sewing my own clothes my whole life. 

At any rate, I was given a dress with about fifty layers of skirts, including a hoop skirt, and the worst bodice I’ve ever encountered. Sigmun said I looked lovely but he was laughing, and Simonn just laughed outright. I had to get Sigmun to undo the bodice before I could change back into my regular clothes. How can anyone dress like this every day? 

 

23 July 1619

Tomorrow’s the big event, and we’ve all got our clothes ready to go. Sigmun’s costume looks a bit less silly than Simonn’s but not by much, and I felt bad for laughing. I’m somewhat excited, but a little nervous, too. I don’t know very much of the etiquette or manners here, not the way I do at home. I don’t feel comfortable here, either. It’s such a maze here that I hardly know which way to turn. I’m glad I’m not here alone, though. That would be awful. 

Sigmun got me red roses today. I don’t know where he found them but I put them in a vase with water like I always do and it was comforting, because red roses remind me of home and of him. 

 

25 July 1619

Well, last night was the ball. As it turns out some other nobles invited their miscellaneous commoner friends, and so we were all seated together at a table of uncomfortable and vaguely confused people from local towns. At least they were mostly kind enough. I sat next to another woman who looked as lost as I felt. 

“Hello. I’m Vantas, Dianna Vantas. You?”

“Keating. Christabell Keating. Nice to meet you.”

“You as well. So you were invited?”

“Yes. By the princess Mary. And you?”

“The heir, Candas.” 

She looked surprised. 

“She visits our town with that duke, and the general’s son.” I dropped my voice. “To tell you the truth, the lot of them are quite intimidating.”

She giggled and I did, too. “They are! The way they look at our town!”

“I know! Like we’re savages,” I said, still smiling. “I can tell you my village has the best midwife around, and the best fabric stores.”

“Mine has the most wonderful foods. The Savoys on Sterling Street make these amazing pickles.” 

“Who are you here with?” I asked. 

“My family. Mother, father, and sister. You?”

“My husband, my mother-in-law, and my best friend.”

“Who’s who?”

“This one’s my husband,” I said, touching Sigmun’s shoulder. “And then next to him is my mother-in-law, and then my best friend.” 

“What is it, love?” my love asked. 

“Just introducing you. This is Christabell Keating. This is my husband, Sigmun Vantas.”

“Nice to meet you,” my love said, holding out his hand (sort of, considering we were sitting). 

“And you,” she said. “So where are you from?”

“South, about a day’s walk,” my love said. “You?”

“A day and a half from the west,” she said. 

We conversed about little things like that until the dancing. I never thought I’d be glad I know the minuet, but I was. And I was very glad I’d taught Sigmun and Simonn, even though at the time it felt silly. It felt strange to be dancing in that awful hoop skirt and too-tight corset contraption in those restricted steps. At our festivals we have big dance moves, skirts swirling and people moving every which way. It was all very controlled here, like even their dances were political. I know they play games of politics and power in the palace and among the other monarchs, but I assumed they’d have fun sometimes. I had the feeling everything everyone did there was for the sake of appearances, and for the sake of their power games. What a sad way to live. I can’t imagine it. I’ve had some hard times but every Christmas the whole village dances to Mr. Jacobson and Mrs. Thompson playing the fiddle and every Christmas I dance, too. I can’t imagine living my whole life in tiny, controlled steps, never quite sure what the next game will be. 

I suppose that explains why they seem so odd to me. We have gossip and rumors in the village but in the end there’s nothing to be lost besides a reputation, not a throne or a country. Candas and her lot must be expecting more from us. 

I saw Grantt at the party, actually. It made me a little nervous because I was wearing a red rose in my hair from Sigmun (I took off the thorns) and I suppose he saw it, because when I took a break from dancing and Sigmun was off with Simonn he walked up to me and said, “Hello.”

“Hello, Grantt.”

“Pretty flower.”

“Thank you. It’s from my husband.” 

“Oh?”

“Yes. He gets me red roses.”

He nodded. “May I have the next dance?”

“Thank you for the offer, but I’m resting for a little. Maybe later.” I couldn’t think of a polite way to tell him that besides frightening me, I didn’t like the feeling of his hands on me. When he was in town for the festival a few years back we danced and I just don’t like the feeling. Maybe that’s silly. 

It was late by the time the party was over and we got back to our rooms. I tried to go to Sigmun’s room out of habit, but he was even more tired than I was so Simonn had to pull him to his room and I made it to my room, exhausted. I barely got my outfit off before I collapsed. Those palace beds never felt so nice. 

Simonn left today but the rest of us leave tomorrow, so tonight I ought to pack my things. Soon I’ll be back home for real. It’ll be nice. 

 

27 July 1619

I came back from the city last night early (because Sigmun and Dolora stayed a little longer to pick up things for Dolora’s medicine, a task we forgot earlier in the week) and I was exhausted, so I basically fell into bed and slept the night through. But this morning, when I woke up and went downstairs, Hannah was sitting there with Simonn and they were eating breakfast.

Simonn’s face went from pale to crimson in all of two seconds.

“I’m not supposed to be here yet, am I?” I asked, trying not to laugh. Simonn started stammering something and Hannah ducked her head, trying to hide her face with her hair. I went back upstairs and sighed. They’re such a nice couple. They really ought to get married. I’ll suggest it again tomorrow.

 

28 July 1619

Catherine was worried about me today at work, like she does. It’s good to know she cares, even though she’s not family. It makes me feel a little better to know I’m not so hopeless and so repulsive as my mother said I was. 

But it feels so lonely sometimes, this grief. It feels like being fifteen and alone and afraid, hardly knowing which way is up and what I can do to avoid her wrath. I was so afraid of her back then. I wonder how I ever survived that alone. 

 

30 July 1619

It was boiling hot today but I couldn’t bear to go to the creek after work like sometimes I do. It’s just too hard, remembering the way he used to love the creek. He played in the water like it was heaven. Like nothing could ever go wrong. Like nothing ever would go wrong. I never took him to the river, but I bet he would have loved it there too. 

So I just sat in bed with a book and no blankets and tried not to think about it. And when Sigmun came home he and I sat there together and thought about our baby and life and I wanted to cry again but I didn’t and I’m not sure why. Sometimes it all hits me again, just when I think I’m feeling better, and I feel like I’m falling down a deep, dark hole again. I act normal but sometimes I feel like I’m drowning again and this time I won’t resurface. 

 

3 August 1619

Twenty-three months. He would be almost two years old today. I can hardly believe it. He’d be running and talking and he’d be playing, too, playing with the other children in the village (much as I love children their smiles make my heart ache with loss). We’d be teaching him to eat on his own and he’d be laughing and smiling. I’d be reading to him every night and Sigmun would be playing with him and teaching him during the day, and we’d be teaching him lots of languages so he’d grow up with just as many languages as we have. Our money might still be tight but we’d all be happy. 

 

12 August 1619

I only lost my journal for perhaps a week this time, under the bed somehow, but I still don’t like it. I get jittery when I can’t write and it makes me feel better when things start hurting--writing does, that is. 

Nothing much happened today but Patrik and I have been talking in German, the only language I speak my family doesn’t. The only problem is that according to them I mix languages more when I’m stressed and they don’t understand German. 

 

13 August 1619

He woke me up at midnight or so last night with another one of his dreams. 

“My love, wake up.”

“What is it?”

“Another dream.”

“Nightmare?”

“No…a good dream. You and I…you and I and Simonn and Mom were all in a museum. I mean, in the dream I knew it was a museum. It was a huge hall and we were looking at a model of trains, a model of this country I’d never been to, full of model trains. We were children, and Mama was taking us to the museum on a day off from school. Because we all went to school, everyone did, it was the law. But we had a day off, so Mama took all of us to the museum. We just…we just looked at everything, and there were these amazing moving exhibits, and it was…Dianna, I have never seen something so amazing in my life.”

He sounded starstruck, and I wished I could see it too. “I wish I could see it.”

“I wish I could show you,” he said. “I can’t imagine anything would go wrong if there were such wonderful things in the world. Why would people fight if they could see something so amazing?” 

“Was it expensive? For rich people only?”

“No! It cost, but…school groups went, I knew that in the dream, and anyone could get in as long as they could pay. It wasn’t more than--well, I don’t remember how much, but it was pretty reasonable. Can you imagine? I wish…I wish so much that was now…”

“Pardon?”

“Oh, it was the future,” he said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “About…hm. Four centuries? Give or take.” 

“How do you know that?”

“I just…do. In the dreams. Someday there’s going to be a huge museum anyone can go to and we’ll be there to see it. Well, not us. But the ones after us, they’ll see it. And we’ll see it through them.” 

“You are so hopeful.”

“Don’t have a choice.” 

“I suppose.”

“If we don’t have hope, what do we have?”

“We have each other, that’s what.”

“But we have hope in each other.”

I nodded. “Yes, I suppose.”

“Some days I wake up and the only thing that gets me out of bed so I can look for a job one more day is knowing that you all are still here, and you’re all still here gives me hope that one day things will get better.” 

He must’ve been tired, because he doesn’t say things like that normally. “Of course we’re here. I’ll always be here for you.”

“I know,” he said. “And I for you. And that’s all the hope I need.”

He snuggled up to my chest, the way he does after one of those dreams, and he fell asleep just like that. I stayed awake a little while longer, stroking his hair and thinking, and when I fell asleep I think I felt pretty hopeful myself. 

I only realized after he was asleep that I never asked what a train was. 

 

16 August 1619

Catherine was over for tea today, as well as Andrew. He didn’t each much of anything and I could tell Simonn was concerned, because since Catherine was there he was going by Hannah and that tends to make him uncomfortable (understandably!). But even after Catherine left I got the sense Andrew wasn’t feeling well at all. 

I hope he’s alright. 

 

19 August 1619

I miss so badly my little Luke right now. I don’t know why. I just want him back so I can hug him and tell him I love him and he would grow up safe and loved, and when he grew up he would be happy and loved and smart and he’d have a better life than we did as children. Maybe we could even get him into a school in the city, a good school with opportunities. 

I wish my son was still here. I wish he was in my arms instead of being buried under grass and dirt and forget-me-nots. I miss him so much. 

 

22 August 1619

It’s my birthday today. I’m twenty-four. How odd. 

We didn’t celebrate and I didn’t remind anyone. I don’t feel in the mood to celebrate so close to my baby’s second birthday. Sigmun gave me red roses but I don’t know if they were for my birthday or just because that’s something he does. I know he must remember my birthday because I remember all theirs, but I don’t know if they didn’t care or noticed I didn’t. I worry sometimes my family doesn’t love me as much as I love them, and I know it’s silly but it’s only gotten worse since Luke. 

I miss him so much. 

 

25 August 1619

I think I might have to talk to Mariek. I talk to her and Neolla most days in the village, but I mean I should ask her about her clever little trick on how not to have children. I don’t want another child, not now, but it feels good to be sleeping with my love again because it’s just a nice feeling. There’s nothing wrong with that, as far as I know. 

Mariek’s clever in a different way from me. I’m just glad she doesn’t mind sharing her secrets. 

 

29 August 1619

I went to his grave again today and it’s odd, but I felt this…feeling. Like something heavy was lifted off my shoulders, but something heavier was still sitting in my gut. I missed my little Luke but the forget-me-nots still grow on his grave and I will never forget him. I can’t. I couldn’t forget my baby any more than I could forget my own name. And if someday I forget both, then maybe the forget-me-nots will remember for me.


	41. Big Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The leaves change, the wolrd prepares for winter, and mistakes were made.

3 September 1619

Happy birthday, Luke. He’d be two. Two years old. Probably walking, and starting to string together sentences, and starting to scare me by wandering around the house without knowing the difference between a toy and a lit candle. He’d be smiling up at me with those healthy pink gums and those sparkling hazel eyes and that little blond curl that would never lie flat. Sigmun or I would be sewing him more clothes that he’d fit and carrying him around the market on my hip and playing with him whenever I could and maybe teaching him a few words in other languages, just for fun.

My whole heart aches and I almost didn’t go to work again today. Sigmun and I put flowers on his grave and I don’t think it’ll ever get easier, seeing that grave and knowing his little body is under it. Even now, tears blur my letters and I can’t seem to feel my fingers. I didn’t eat lunch and I won’t eat dinner. My feet feel like lead and my mind feels numb. Sometimes, when the grief strikes me the most, I have dreams. I dream about my little Luke as a toddler, a child, almost an adult, all grown up like he never was. I dream about holidays and meals and teaching him instead of school and friends he’ll never have and a marriage I’ll never attend with a faceless girl in a blue dress and my child in a nice suit, all dressed up, and sometimes I dream about just a dinner like any day and Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora and my little one and I are all sitting around a table with just stew and bread and water but he’s six or seven or eight, with pink cheeks and hair darkening to dirty blond and dirt in his clothes and grass stains on the knees of his pants and I just can’t bear it. I can’t.

I didn’t even need to say anything to Sigmun. I saw how heavy his eyes were and how little he ate, how little we all ate. I saw two flowers on Luke’s grave already when Sigmun and I went there, red and blue, and I’m sure they were Simonn’s and I wonder if he left them there for Sigmun and I to see.

The tears are burning my whole body, but I don’t want to make a sound. My arms feel chilled just from the memory. I think I may cry myself to sleep tonight, but maybe this time I’ll be able to feel my husband’s arms around me, comforting me in a way I’ll never understand.

 

6 September 1619

Mariek was over for tea today and I was feeling tired and stressed, so she and I just sat there with our tea and were quiet. It was kind of nice knowing she was there even though we weren’t talking. I like to talk and I like to be social, but my goodness, everyone needs a break sometimes. 

 

10 September 1619

I had such a nightmare last night, and I don’t remember much of it, but it was so awful I woke up screaming, and I haven’t done that in…well, months at the very least. I scared my family of course, but I was able to calm them down. I just told Dolora I had a nightmare and I told Simonn that yes I had a nightmare and he really had no place to bother me about it. (To which he rolled his eyes and told me he’d bother me anyways because he knows a thing or two about nightmares, thank you very much.) 

I have no idea what on Earth the dream was about, either. I was just so scared. 

 

12 September 1619

Catherine said she found a suitor today, which I might not be noting except she said it was Edward, the oldest Fletcher son. I don’t know him very well but he’s a lovely dancer when I see him in the village and I can understand why Catherine would like him. He’s got a job and everything, and I talked to Mariek and Neolla and they told me he doesn’t have any sort of bad rumors, not like David or Francis or Hugh. (I’ve never known a girl, except perhaps myself, to choose a husband without first asking her friends, and then her friends asking their friends, so I suppose this was all pretty ordinary.) 

The only thing holding her back is that he’s not terribly rich, and since if she’s married she wouldn’t work anymore she wants a husband who can provide for her and her children. I certainly understand that, especially because she’s not got family the way I do, or most of the village does. Maybe he’ll pull through and find a better job. I hope so!

 

15 September 1619

I went to Luke’s grave today and I know it’s wrong but there’s a part of me that envies all the women in the world who have children, lively children with big hearts and bright eyes and big futures. I wish I could go to the village tomorrow and hold my little one on my hip while he laughed and I shopped, and the people in the village would stop and we’d chat about children and jobs and life and all that. I just wish he was still alive. 

I cried but the forget-me-nots there are beautiful and they made me feel better, because someone is remembering him, even if it’s just the flowers. 

 

17 September 1619

The leaves are all falling and they’re so lovely. I remember the leaves were falling when he was born and I missed the leaves that year because I spent all my time inside taking care of him. I guess it’s better than wanting to cry whenever I see leaves falling. 

 

20 September 1619

Sigmun and I went for a walk today to the clearing with the forget-me-nots and I lied down with my head in his lap and let him play with my hair. It felt nice, and by the time we walked back my hair was braided very nicely (or, as nicely as you can braid thick, unruly hair). It was just a comfort to lie there with my love and feel like I belonged somewhere. 

 

22 September 1619

Simonn had one of his nightmares last night, and I only know because I found him washing dishes the way he does when he doesn’t want us to know he’s been drinking tea at midnight. (Ironically washing dishes gives him away.) I wish he’d just talk about it. I know it’s not good for you to keep everything inside--he’s the one who told me that. 

We picked late-season berries today and helped Dolora get ready for the winter, moving herbs into pots and preserving medicines to make remedies in winter. Of course we all work on food storage this time of year even though I hunt in the winter, because you can’t live just on meat! But since Dolora’s medicine makes money we all help her get ready for the winter. 

I’ve been drying mint leaves for a couple days now so we can store them. Mint’s not as helpful as willow or some of the other herbs, but mint tea is good for the nerves, and plenty of us around here need something for our nerves. It’s good we always keep chamomile tea around, or I wouldn’t sleep at all. I haven’t slept the night through in…more than a year. 

Either way, I have to go transplant some St. John’s wort, so I’ll write more later. 

 

25 September 1619

Catherine asked me today how I did my marriage without my father, considering her father is long passed away. I told her my husband asked me with a bouquet of flowers and I walked myself down the aisle and it was odd, but it was also nice and a really lovely wedding. I wonder if she’s worried about being alone on her wedding day, which I wasn’t, so I also told her I’d be at her wedding if she wanted me to, provided it’s someone in this village. 

I wish it was easier than this. I wish we could just get married without the whole family getting involved. I know it’s important, and a good marriage can help a struggling family with money and status and all that, but I wish we could all just love people without all this stress. 

 

27 September 1619

I wonder sometimes what my baby’s first words would’ve been. Would he have said something like spoon or bowl, or would it have started with Papa or Mama? Or something like book, or toy? I wish I knew. I wish I knew about his first and second and third words, his first sentence and the first time he asked for something he wanted. I wish I could’ve watching him learn to run and to read and to write, how to cook and sew and swim, how to make friends and how to keep them. 

I wish so badly my baby could’ve grown up. I wish he was still here and I could hug him and tell him how much I love him. I wonder if he’d still have that little curl on his forehead that never quite laid flat. I wonder when his hair would’ve started turning brown (the way mine did). I wonder so many things and I’ll never know the answers. 

 

30 September 1619

Today Hannah came over around noon and she was panicking and my first thought was that she was ill and I was worried.

“Hannah? Are you alright?”

“No.”

“Come in, come in. Tea?”

Hannah nodded and fiddled with the ends of her hair. She sat on one of the kitchen chairs while I boiled water and spooned in tealeaves.

“What is it?”

“I haven’t gotten my bleeding since July.”

“I can give you some stew to take home, if you like.” Usually missing your bleeding just means you haven’t been eating enough.

“No, you don’t understand. I’ve been sick and tired and…” She took a heaving sort of breath, like she was trying not to cry. “And I think I’m pregnant.”

“Oh my goodness…” I couldn’t think of anything else to say. “I…I’ll go get Simonn.”

“No!” she shrieked, grabbing my wrist. “No, no, please don’t. I just came…I just came to say goodbye. You know how…these things don’t always work out…” I saw her eyes flicker to the kitchen knives.

“Goodbye?” Then I realized. “No, Hannah, you can’t…”

“Don’t you see? This is my punishment. I sinned, and this is my punishment.”

“No it’s not! We’ll all help you with this! You don’t have to…you can’t…I’m getting Dolora.”

“Don’t! She’ll be angry…”

“No she won’t! Hannah, you need help!”

“But…”

“Stay right here. I’m going to get Dolora.”

Hannah just shook her head and tried to plead with her eyes, but I wasn’t about to let her go through with it. There was no way in hell.

“Dolora!”

“What is it, Dianna dear?”

“It’s important.”

“I’m boiling bandages right now, dear. I think it can wait.”

“No, I don’t think it can.”

“Well, what is it?”

“I think Hannah should tell you herself.”

“Tell me what?”

I went back to the front room and guided Hannah to the kitchen. “Tell her,” I said. “It won’t do any harm.”

Hannah took another one of those heaving breaths and said, “I’m pregnant.”

“Sigmun!” Dolora shouted. He came from the living room.

“What is it?”

“Keep an eye on the bandages until they’re done. I have some work to do.”

“Alright…” Sigmun said, seeming doubtful. “I presume this is something I can’t help with?”

“I just need someone to keep an eye on the fire,” Dolora said. She walked to the library and Hannah and I followed. Dolora sat in her chair and I sat next to Hannah on the couch because she seemed like she was about to collapse and I thought that I better be next to her in case she did fall apart.

“Alright. Who was it?” Dolora asked.

“I…uh…Simonn,” Hannah whispered.

“I’ll be right back,” Dolora said.

“No, please don’t!” Hannah shouted.

“Hannah dear, he is just as responsible as you are. Drink some of your tea and do your best to stay calm. Getting worked up will only make it worse, especially if you’re sick to your stomach.”

Hannah nodded as Dolora stood up to find Simonn. As usual, he was sitting in his room with a book. Or I presume he was, because I heard Dolora speaking very sternly and then Simonn objecting before following. I stood up to give him my spot on the couch and then left to go join Sigmun in boiling bandages because I could tell I wasn’t needed. But I listened in. I didn’t mean to, but there’s not a lot I could do about hearing what was going on.

“What’s going on?” Sigmun asked.

“I didn’t tell you, but Hannah’s pregnant. Simonn, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Sigmun repeated, making it clear that it wasn’t obvious to him.

“Oh, that’s right. While we were in the city with Dolora, I came back a day early and Hannah was here…you can guess.”

“Oh,” Sigmun said, poking one of the bandages. “I--”

“Sh. I want to know what they’re saying.”

“Nosy.”

“Shut up.”

I leaned a little closer and I heard Dolora saying, “I’m not upset. Just do try to be careful next time.”

I could swear I heard Simonn shrugging. I heard Hannah crying.

“This isn’t impossible, Hannah dear.”

“I was just going to…you know…”

“Hannah, dear, it’s not the end of the world. You don’t have to put yourself at risk.”

“I could…Eleanor is married.” I don’t know how I never heard about that. 

“It’s your choice. But you have choices. Remember that, dear. And you know if you choose to make yourself miscarry, I will lie for you.”

“I can’t,” Hannah said. “I’m not…healthy enough.”

“Generally I agree with you,” Dolora said carefully. “The herbs I use can be dangerous if you have a lower bodyweight.” 

“I’m sorry…” Hannah said, and I think she was crying onto Simonn’s shoulder.

“It’s not your fault,” Simonn said. “It’s not.”

“I messed up! This is my fault and I’m paying for it!”

“Calm down, dear. You’ll make yourself sick,” Dolora said. I could picture Simonn sitting next to her with that stunned look on his face, the kind he makes when he can’t even manage to find words. I could picture that concerned look on Dolora’s face she wears when someone’s too sad to think.

“It is! I’m paying for it with my life!”

“What do I do?” Sigmun whispered. “The bandages are done.”

“Just finish them like we always do. Now sh, I want to know if Hannah’s alright.”

“You’re nosy.”

“Shut up!”

“Eleanor will take it, I’m sure of it,” Hannah said. “She’ll help.”

“We could get married, you know,” Simonn said.

“Do you want to be accused of witchcraft, or should I?” Hannah asked. I’ve never heard her be sarcastic before, or not often anyway. It was obvious Dolora had left, I don’t know why. I can tell things like that. Sometimes I wonder if it’s because of all the time I spent analyzing my mother when I was younger.

What really worries me is that I know Hannah really wouldn’t survive making herself miscarry. She’s too small and too underweight to lose a baby on purpose like Mariek did. And it would be doubly dangerous this far along--it’s been almost two months, and most people recognize it by one month if they want to miscarry like Dolora lets people do. And Hannah’s always been underweight. 

“Sigmun, are the bandages done?” Dolora asked from behind Sigmun, to no one’s surprise.

“Yes,” he said. “I put them out to dry.”

“Excellent. I have to go into the village. Where’s the blue jar?”

“The usual place.”

“Alright. Dianna dear, would you like to come?”

“I think I ought to make dinner.”

Dolora nodded and left, which left me to be very glad I wasn’t accused of witchcraft when I was married. And also to be glad that I would never end up in Hannah and Simonn’s situation. The worst part is that Hannah wanted children more than any of us. Mariek never wanted children, and Neolla didn’t either. I want or wanted children, but not as much as Hannah does. And I know Dolora wanted children, even though she couldn’t really have them, and Candas doesn’t want children even though she has to. How ironic, that those who want children can’t have them or must give them up or lose them (damn winter fever) and those who don’t want children must have them.

At any rate, Hannah told us she’s going to give the child to Eleanor and visit all the time and if she can get a job or find a way to marry Simonn or something, she can maybe adopt her own child (I suppose). That’s what she said when she left, anyways. I hope things work out for her. Of all people, she deserves it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would appreciate feedback--tell me how I'm doing! I also would love suggestions if you have them because I know my plot very well but I'm always open to change.


	42. Children, or Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children continue to be a problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is late! Stuff keeps happening on my usual update nights, plus a ton of night shifts.

3 October 1619

I can’t keep counting months like this. It feels too strange. After they turn two we count their age in years and now I’m just dreading his third birthday. Not to mention November seventh. I used to be glad the numbness was wearing off but now it just hurts more, thinking about my baby boy. Why couldn’t he have lived? Why can’t I wake up to my little Luke fussing in his crib because it’s morning and he wants to get up? 

I know why, but I’d prefer not to think about it. 

 

31 October 1619

I can’t believe I lost my journal again. I reckon it must be because I’m so distracted these days. It’s hard to think very much, and I’m not sure why. It’s just gotten harder to keep my thoughts in order. I can sew because it’s mindless and function so my family doesn’t worry, but I can’t think much beyond about my baby boy. 

Today was All Hallows’ and we all went to festival, partly because Dolora insisted and partly because it would be very strange if we missed it; everyone goes to the festival. It was alright. We danced and ate like everyone else, but I sat out a lot of the songs because I was tired. Or, my mind was tired, even if my body wasn’t. Or the exhaustion of my mind extended to my body. It’s hard to tell. 

Anyways, I danced with Sigmun a few times, and I could tell his heart wasn’t really in it the way it used to be. He still spun me around like he does, and he still kissed me right when the song ended the way he always does, but I could tell he was tired. I think he was tired the same way I was. 

Simonn seemed alright, though. Like he’s recovered a little from the grief. I bet he has. He knows how to feel better after things like this. 

 

1 November 1619

All Saint’s Day today. We went to the festival again, and even though my heart really wasn’t in it it could’ve been worse. It’s just hard to be at the festival when I know it’s the reason my baby boy died. If we hadn’t gone to the festival my baby would still be alive. If we hadn’t gone to the festival my baby would still be alive. 

It was alright, watching the world move on while I do my best to not stand still. I saw Catherine dancing with Edward, and I hope they work out together. Catherine deserves to be happy, no matter how she finds happiness. 

 

7 November 1619

One year. It’s been one year since my baby boy died. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe just a year ago today I held my baby boy in my arms, his heart beating and his lungs working (no matter how badly). I miss him so much. 

I had trouble eating today, so I just ate enough so my family wouldn’t worry. And I went to his grave with Sigmun and we sat there, watching the flowers, until it was late and time for dinner. 

 

9 December 1619

I lost my journal again. It was wedged behind the desk, and I don’t know how. I wish I hadn’t missed a whole month of writing, not now when I’m still stressed and tired and still grieving in some ways. If I don’t write I cry or I blurt out everything to Sigmun too incoherent for him to understand. If I write first I can be coherent enough for him to help a little. 

I need to write and I still don’t know why. But if I don’t, I feel like I might lose my mind. Maybe that’s odd. But I can’t just not write. 

 

11 December 1619

Hannah’s been over a lot lately, because she doesn’t have any experience with being pregnant and I do. I don’t mind, because Hannah’s wanted children as long as I’ve known her, but I miss my baby and I can’t help the hot jealousy I feel when she’s talking about how excited she is to have a baby, even if she’s hiding it and she can never really be her baby’s parent she’s excited. I feel so jealous and I hate it. I shouldn’t be jealous of my friend when she can have a baby, something she’s always wanted as much as--more than--me! And yet, here I am. 

Sigmun had kind of a similar look, like he wanted so very badly to be a father again, but I didn’t know how to ask. 

 

15 December 1619

I feel awful and I don’t know what to do. Sigmun and I were talking and…well, I’ll just write it. 

“Dianna, love?”

“Yes?”

“I was thinking, with Hannah being pregnant and all…do you want to have another child?”

I do, but I’m not…not ready. Not yet. So I shook my head and said, “No, I don’t.”

He looked absolutely heartbroken. “Not at all?”

“Not…not now. I’ll think about it.”

“You sound like my mother when I was a child whenever she didn’t want to tell me no.” 

“I don’t mean to. I can’t have another child, not now!” 

“It’s not just you!”

“Well, it’s not just you either, and no matter how you slice it I can’t spend all day sewing buttonholes while taking care of a baby!” 

“You quit your job last time!”

“And I don’t want to again! We’re both in this together, or did you forget it’s not just about you?” 

“I’m trying to be understanding here, but what I don’t understand is whether you want to have a child or not!” 

“I don’t, not now!” I shouted, too loud. 

“Well I do! Does that count for anything?”

“Not if you’re going to ignore what I want! This is about both of us!”

“You know what? I doubt you’ll ever be ready! I bet you’ll just put this talk off for the rest of our lives until we’re too old--you’re too old--and we never have children because you weren’t ready! What’s it going to take for you to be ready?”

“Time! A little time! I just need some time!” 

“Would you believe me if I said I might feel better about Luke if we had another baby?”

“It would make me feel worse!” 

“Why can’t you just try to see it from my side?” 

I was very upset and so I just got up out of bed and said, “Unless you’ve got a damn good case for your side you can sleep on your own tonight!” 

“What--I--?”

“Do you have anything to say for yourself? Or are you just going to stammer at me all night?”

“I think it would be good for us to have a second child!”

“Oh, so now it’s ‘us’, not you? Now you think of us?” 

“I was thinking of us from the start!”

“No you weren’t, you were thinking of you!”

“So are you!” 

“I don’t want to have another child! I don’t want to turn out like my mother!” I stalked away and I found the blankets I used to use when I stayed the night when I was a child, and I lit a candle and now I’m writing. I don’t think I’m ready to have another child. My mother wasn’t ready to have me and I’m not ready to have another child. I’m never going to risk doing that to a child. 

 

16 December 1619

Simonn and Dolora could tell right away that something was wrong because Sigmun and I were glaring at each other and not speaking. Simonn sat with me on the couch after work (he doesn’t work much in winter) and said, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“Sigmun and I fought.”

“I gathered that from all the shouting. What about?”

“Having another child.”

He looked at me, questioning and confused. “I thought you both wanted kids.”

“I…I don’t, not yet. I worry that…that if I had a child now, I’d end up like my mother.” 

“I’m not sure that’s possible.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, in the end, I reckon you’re a better person than your mother. And you have so much determination to not be like her that I don’t think you could.” 

“I’m still not ready to have another child.”

“That’s fine. I’m just telling you I don’t think you could ever be like your mother.” 

“So what do you think?”

“I think you two need to talk it out. I may be your best friend but I am in no position to tell you when to have children.” 

“But who do you think is right?”

“Both of you.”

I just looked at him questioningly. 

“It might be good for him to have another child, but it might be better for you to wait. You can both be right. Dianna, it’s a fight, not a competition.” 

I couldn’t think of anything to say so I crossed my arms and said, “Then what do you think we should do?”

“If I was both of you? I would wait a few months. We’re only twenty-four. There’s plenty of time left.” 

“So…you think I’m right?”

“For heaven’s sake, there’s no right and wrong here! I’m saying you have time left to have children and there’s no reason you can’t wait for a little while. I’m saying both of you need to be reasonable!” 

He sounded frustrated and annoyed and I felt kind of bad about being so invested in a fight that I’d thought of it as a competition instead of a disagreement, and annoyed my best friend. 

“So try to make up alright? If you want a tip for that, stay calm. Don’t think of it as a competition. More like a negotiation.” 

I nodded. “Thanks, Simonn.”

“Any time, Dianna. Now go forth and make up with your husband and best friend.” 

“Thanks,” I said. He took my hand in his and squeezed and so I went up to my room. 

Once Sigmun was home he saw me in our room and blushed. “Dianna--”

“I’m not here to get angry at you.” 

“Me neither.” 

“Then…can we talk?”

He nodded. “I prefer talking to fighting.” 

I nodded my agreement. “Then…okay. You go first.” 

“About children?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well, I want to have another child because I feel like it would be good for us, to be able to take care of a baby and to be able to move on. I feel like it would help me at least to not keep wallowing, you know?” 

I nodded. 

“What about you?” 

“Well, I…I don’t feel ready to have another child. I don’t think I could handle having another baby right now. I know it’s important to move on, but I just don’t think I could handle that right now. I really do…I see where you’re coming from but I don’t think I can do that right now.” 

“Do you think maybe…at some point in the future?” 

“Yeah. Not now, but…later.” 

“I thought you were just closed off to the whole idea!”

“No, no. I thought you wanted a baby right now.”

“No, that’s--I want another child, but there’s nothing urgent about it.” 

“So it’s okay with you to wait for a few months?”

“Yes. And it’s okay for you to have another child someday?”

“Yes.” 

He threw his arms around me like we hadn’t seen each other in fourteen years and said, quietly, “I love you.”

“I love you too. Why the dramatic hugging?”

“I was worried!”

“Worried about what?”

“I…I don’t know. I guess I was worried I’d lose you.”

“It was a fight, not the end of our marriage! And even so, you’re my best friend, and you’ve been my best friend since we were children.”

“And we’re still best friends now,” he said, taking my hands in his and pressing our foreheads together. It’s so nice when he does things like that, like he knows I can’t help but be afraid when someone’s upset with me. “I love you.”

“And I love you.” 

He kissed me and it was so nice to be kissing him like that because I love him so much. I love him more than one fight, the way I love the rest of my family. 

 

21 December 1619

Christmas is coming. The snow is falling and the trees are all bare and skeletal. It’s the second Christmas without my baby boy. I miss him so badly when I remember his first Christmas, how happy and sweet he was and even though he didn’t have any presents. He didn’t know any better. I think this might be a little easier, though. We had Christmas without him before--I’m sure we can have Christmas now that he’s gone. 

I hope so, anyways. 

 

25 December 1619

Happy Christmas, I suppose. It didn’t feel very happy. We did presents, like always. A book of poetry for Sigmun, a set of new jars for Dolora, a few magnets for Simonn (he does like them). A new journal from Sigmun, a new dress from Dolora, a hairbrush from Simonn. We had dinner, like we always do, and it tasted like Christmas dinner should. Most food tastes like food these days, instead of like cotton the way it used to. 

We went to the festival too, and Sigmun and I danced like we do. As usual I danced with Simonn too, and in some of the quicker dances I danced with Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Cooper and the other men in the village, because in those dances we switch partners so fast I can hardly keep track. It was fun, dancing like that, but I saw the women with children sitting off to the side and I remember sitting there with my baby while I clapped in time to the rhythm and I miss it. 

Andrew didn’t dance much, because he doesn’t want to risk anything, and he was wearing a loose dress so no one could tell. He’s definitely showing, but if I didn’t already know he was pregnant I don’t think I would’ve noticed. I hate that I’m so jealous when he’s so happy, but I am. I want to be as happy about my baby without all this awful, crushing sadness. 

Simonn’s tentatively happy, I think. I see him smiling to himself, humming even, and I think he’s excited to have a baby, even if he’ll never really have the chance to be a father. 

I must be going mad. How can I be so happy for my friends and so painfully jealous at the same time? 

 

28 December 1619

Hannah was over today, and she looked up and then down and then said, “I’m so sorry.”

“Pardon?”

“I realized the other day, at Christmas. You were looking over at the other mothers. I shouldn’t be talking so much about my own baby right now!”

“It’s been more than a year.”

She looked at me skeptically. “I had the same childhood you did.” 

I forget she can lie just about as well as I can, and we can both see through other people’s lies. “I’m sorry, Hannah. I know you’re happy and I shouldn’t be jealous. I have no right to be jealous!”

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been talking about my baby all the time when I should’ve known you would be upset. I mean, I can’t imagine what it must be like.”

“How about--how about this,” I said. “I feel awful asking, but if you could talk about it…just a little less?”

She nodded. “Of course. I was really insensitive.” 

“No, it’s fine. I was the same way when I was pregnant. Really, Hannah, there’s nothing to worry about. I’m sorry for being so jealous.”

“Don’t worry about it. I understand.” 

I smiled at her and it was so nice to clear the air with her. I hated being jealous and just sitting there while Hannah and Simonn are so happy. I hope Simonn feels the same; I don’t want to ruin our friendship just because I’m jealous. 

 

31 December 1619

Tomorrow begins a new year. I hope it’s at least a little better than this one. I hope Hannah and Simonn’s baby is okay. I hope I find myself ready for another child. I hope I’m able to feel okay someday.


	43. Damara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babies are born and prophesies of a sort are made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was on time! I'm about to start school so chapters might be more erratic, but I should be able to get everything done. 
> 
> Also, I would appreciate some comments. I have no clue what you guys think of this story!

25 February 1620

Again, I lost my journal. But this time it was in my dresser, under my shirts. It must’ve gotten caught up in laundry or something. I get so easily distracted when I do the laundry sometimes, because it’s so monotonous. Nothing much has happened. Catherine is still on the fence about Edward, I am still feeling a bit better every day, and my job is still alright. My family is still okay. 

 

3 March 1620

A letter came today for Sigmun and me and it was the one Simonn wrote a year ago when he borrowed my pen.  
Dear Sigmun and Dianna,

I’m so sorry. I’m sure it hasn’t been nearly long enough, in fact I’m sure it’ll never be long enough, but I have to get this off my chest.

It’s my fault. I don’t know what you think about it, but I know it’s my fault. I knew from the moment I woke up in cold sweat from a nightmare about a little boy, maybe a year old, with blond hair and hazel eyes and blue lips, dead in someone’s arms. I knew all along and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you because you were so happy with Luke and I just couldn’t bring myself to breathe a word. So whatever you may think about it, the entire time it was my fault. I should’ve done something, should’ve told you or I don’t know what. I’m sorry.

That’s also why I had trouble being around him. I didn’t want to be the one holding him when he passed. I didn’t want to be the one to pass on an illness. I didn’t want to be the one to blame. But the whole time, I knew that the guilt would always be mine and I’m so, so sorry.

I know you always loved him and always talked about how he had the prettiest eyes and the softest hair and the sweetest voice and every time you said that, I prayed that by some miracle his eyes had turned blue or his hair and turned brown or he grew a foot taller because then my nightmare was just a nightmare. I can’t stop thinking about how sorry I am, about how nothing I ever did changed it. Because I knew and I never said and the guilt eats me alive every second I see you crying or yelling or remaining utterly silent. Every full bowl of stew and every book out of place and every pot or pan left in the sink, every time I hear someone crying when it’s late and I’m not sleeping, every time I hear something shatter and someone stammering an apology, every time I wake up and I know I have to face everyone all over again, every single time it just gets worse.

I just thought I’d write to you and tell you. Do what you like; I’d understand if you two never want to see me again. I’ll take it with dignity like I should because it’s my fault and I’m so, so sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever been sorrier in my life. I don’t even know if I’ll send this letter, but I need to at least pretend that I’m telling someone. I’m sorry, I’m sorry a million times over and a million more. Please forgive me.  
\--Simonn

I just heard the door open and close and from the sound of the footsteps, it’s Simonn. How can I not forgive him? He didn’t do anything wrong. He didn’t spoil the year of happiness we did have. I don’t know what Sigmun will think, but I think that he wasn’t to blame.

 

3 March, Later

Sigmun read the letter too, and we both agreed and so after dinner in the library we both told Simonn it wasn’t his fault. He seemed about ready to cry, and I felt so bad for him, because it’s no one’s fault, what happened, and he shouldn’t feel guilty for dreaming about it, my goodness!

 

“But I could’ve--”

“No, stop that. With your siblings, with your parents, it happened anyway--there’s nothing you could’ve done,” I said. 

“But with him, it could’ve been different.”

“It was an illness. There was nothing we could have done,” Sigmun insisted. 

Simonn shrugged. “I guess, but…”

“Simonn, don’t worry about it. No one’s blaming you,” I said. 

“Except me.”

“Well, stop that,” I said. “Because it’s not your fault.” 

Simonn crossed his arms at us. “Have you guys seen Principia?” 

“It’s in our room. I was reading it the other night,” Sigmun said. “I’ll go get it.”

“I’ll start dinner,” I said, and I left so Simonn could be alone. He’s better at being alone sometimes. He’s a lot less social than I am. I like people; I couldn’t stand to be alone for long. But Simonn likes being alone, or at least resting alone. It’s kind of different, and I don’t mind at all, but sometimes I worry because I want to help him. It’s hard to know that helping him means letting him alone. 

 

6 March 1620

Catherine gave up on Edward today. 

“He’s just not getting his act together. I don’t want to work my whole life. If he was serious about this, he would be finding work and making money. He’s not even planning on taking over the family business--that’s his brother!” 

“Do you like him?”

“I…I do, but it’s not just about that, you know? He has to be someone who will support the children, and take care of me too, and all that.”

I nodded, because it’s basically the same thing Jean said when I was a child, but I was too jealous then to understand. And too lost, from my mother. I suppose since I like working, and since I don’t mind it, I could afford to marry Sigmun. But Catherine has no one to be like Dolora to her, and she wants to have children while not working, so she has to find someone who can support her. I wish my wages were enough to support myself on my own with a child. 

When I look back at what I wrote when I was first writing, when I talked with Jean and Elizabeth and Mary because our mothers were friends, I realize they felt the same. (It’s embarrassing to read what I wrote back then--I saw the world through such a lens!) It’s only by chance Sigmun and I found each other. Otherwise I’d be thinking the same as Catherine. 

 

10 March 1620

Sigmun found a job, with the cooper. He’s doing the work you don’t need skills for, because I suppose no one wants to apprentice an illegitimate. But he’s making money, and it’s going to help us. It’s…it’s going to be okay. It’s such a relief sometimes to know that it’s going to be okay, and I don’t know why. Sometimes I just need to remind myself that in the end, it will be okay. 

 

12 March 1620

I was sitting in bed with Sigmun today, reading like we do, and since I’ve been thinking for two months now, I said, “Sigmun?”

“Hm?”

“I was thinking about having children.”

“Oh?” He sounded like he was suppressing eagerness. 

“I thought…you said you’d like to have another child.”

“Yes.” He was careful, and I could tell he was excited. 

“I feel ready for that now, if you’d still like to.” 

He nodded and kissed me and said, “Are you sure? You’re not just doing this because I want to have a baby?”

“I’m sure. I really do want another child.” 

He kissed me again and I hope that this time the baby grows up healthy and safe. 

 

13 March 1620

Normally I don’t write much about my “night life”, or whatever you call it when you sleep with your spouse (I suppose it’s some lingering embarrassment because they do always tell us women aren’t supposed to talk about it), but last night. 

I was halfway done with the buttons on Sigmun’s shirt and I started laughing and he said, “What? I mean, I’m glad you’re happy, but I’d rather not be laughed at while I’m trying to be all seductive and everything.” He sounded half amused, half offended. It’s hard to tell sometimes. 

“Sorry. I was justing thinking about when…when Luke was about a year old and I was undoing your buttons and he started crying and--” I started laughing again. 

“Oh.” He smiled a little, and then he was laughing too, and we just sat there laughing at nothing for…I don’t know, forever perhaps. And then he pressed his forehead to mine, so our noses were just barely touching, and said, “I love you.” I might not’ve heard him except it was dead silent but for our breathing. 

“I love you too,” I said, and I kissed him. 

 

15 March 1620

Andrew’s hardly been leaving the house lately, of course, and I feel bad for him. It’s awful when you’re right about to give birth. It’s too hot and painful and tiring and somehow you can’t sleep, and you’re busy dreading giving birth, and it’s just so painful. I hated being pregnant, even if I loved my baby. I hope Andrew makes it through alright. 

 

17 March 1620

Hannah’s going to be giving birth any day now. Dolora stops by every six hours or so to be sure she’s not going into labor yet. I’m going to be there, of course, because I always help with births (it’s not like anyone’s going to allow Sigmun to, and I’m the closest woman). I hope she’s alright. Childbirth is scary and painful and I hope to every higher power that may exist that Hannah lives. I’ll do everything I can to help her and I just pray it works. 

 

20 March 1620

Andrew thought he was going into labor today but then it turned out he wasn’t, and I was so scared for a moment. He said he scared himself. But he’s alright, and it seems that it’s not childbirth quite yet. But soon. 

 

21 March 1620

Hannah had her child today, and she named the little girl Damara after her mother.

“Damara Captor?” I asked.

“Megido. I want her to have my mother’s name, because she was the bravest person I knew.”

“I suppose Simonn’s alright with it.”

“He said I could choose any name, he was sure he’d love it.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah…But she might not share her sister’s name.”

“Why do you say she’ll have a sister?”

Hannah blushed nervously. “I just…I just know things sometimes.”

“Like Simonn?”

“I guess—wait, you know about that?” She looked so relieved. “I suppose so, except less dramatic. Like…Damara will have a sister. Her name will be Aradia, and she’ll look like Alice and Eleanor. You’re going to have a daughter.”

“What?”

“Well, you’re going to have a daughter. I won’t have any more children. Sigmun is going to find a book called Dead To Me in a bookstore and read it twenty times over. Simonn is going to translate Principia into English and try to get me to read it, and I’ll give in after a month or two.”

“Sorry, I’m still stuck on ‘you’re going to have a daughter’.”

“She won’t be yours and Sigmun’s. She’ll be an orphan or a runaway, something of that sort. Sigmun will be dead by then. You’ll be pretty old.”

“I outlive him?”

“Sorry. I only ever see life, not death.”

“Don’t worry about it. I was just curious. What about Damara?” I was worrying about it but I didn’t want her to. I’m terrified to outlive my family.

“She’ll have lots of friends. They’ll be brave and strong. She’ll be shy, like me, but she’ll also be kind. She’ll have Simonn’s brains. Her sister and her will be as close as my sisters and I. She’ll be lovely, prettier than I am. You’re going to be so much more important than your mother, aren’t you, little one?” she said, addressing her baby.

“You’re not unimportant, Hannah!”

“Maybe I’m not, but she’ll be more important. She’ll be very important one of these days. She’ll stand up for herself. She’ll have friends. She’ll fall in love. She’ll…she’ll die young. But she’ll be wonderful.” Hannah cradled her little one closer to her and added, “I’m sure of it.”

“Simonn hasn’t had one of his dreams,” I mentioned. “So there’s something good.”

“Oh, he had one of his dreams,” Hannah said conversationally. “But he says it won’t happen for a long time.”

“Did he tell you what happened in the dream?”

“No, he said it was too confused for him to know. It’s probably too far in the future to tell.” I don’t think Hannah’s ever sounded so certain in her knowledge of something. “I only know this far in the future because she’s my daughter.” She paused. “I don’t know if I’ll die before she does, but we’ll be separated before either of us die.”

“Isn’t it hard, knowing things like that?”

“Sometimes. But I can’t change it. That’s how it will be. I’ve always known I’m not going to have a happy life. I’ve always known any children I have will share in my misfortune at least somewhat. And sometimes it’s easier to prepare yourself for tragedy.”

“You are so calm about this whole thing.”

Hannah shrugged. “It’s amazing what getting out of a poisonous family will do for you.”

I half-smiled. “I know what you mean.” It seems to me that Hannah’s self-confidence arises from both her separation from her father and from the fact that she feels comfortable with us. At least, she seems to.

“If you’re curious, your daughter will look like you, even though she won’t be yours by blood. She’ll be kind and clever. She’ll be friends with my daughter, but they’ll never know how we were friends. Or that Damara is my daughter. She’ll fall in love and marry, but she’ll outlive her husband. And she’ll be important, too.”

“Do you know why?”

She shrugs. “Not really. But she will be.” She was cuddling the baby close, looking happy and contented. “I love you, little one.” 

“I can leave,” I offered. 

“It’s alright,” Hannah said. “You did the same, didn’t you? Sat with the baby and talked to--” She yawned. 

“Go to sleep, Hannah. We’ll take care of everything. Don’t worry about it.” 

She fell asleep and I think, in the end, it was okay. 

 

23 March 1620

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Hannah. Her sisters and I are doing a lot of the care right now while Dolora stops by to check up, and Hannah’s still tired all the time. I don’t blame her one bit. We’re trying to get the baby used to Eleanor so she doesn’t react badly when Eleanor starts caring for her all the time. 

 

25 March 1620

Damara seems to be healthy, so far. She likes people, likes Hannah and Eleanor and Dorothy and Alice and Dolora and--though I still have trouble believing it--me. I’m not the child’s mother, so I have no idea why she likes me enough to sleep comfortably in my arms. Simonn stops by when he can, even though work keeps him busy, because Damara should know her father. 

I hope that someday Hannah and Simonn can care for their own child, and someday everything’s okay for them. Of all people, they deserve it. 

 

28 March 1620

There was an awful thunderstorm last night. I like storms, but Sigmun is deathly frightened of them, so he woke me up and he was shaking and crying. So I hugged him close and said soft things, telling him we’re safe, and no one’s going to separate us. I think he’s worried, sometimes, that we’re going to abandon him someday even though I love him more than I could ever say. Nights like this he’ll ask, so quiet I don’t know if he means for me to hear it, if I’ll ever leave. And I say no, of course not, I love him and I’ll never leave him as long as I have anything to say about it. And he’ll do the same for me, when I wake up from my nightmares scared and upset and so afraid of losing my family I can hardly breathe for it. 

 

30 March 1620

I think I might be pregnant again. It’s the damn nausea and vomiting again. It wasn’t the first thing for Hannah but it sure is for me. I don’t like being pregnant. I want to have a baby but I don’t like being pregnant. 

Well, here we go again.


	44. In Which School Is Too Stressful for Me to Think of a Witty Title

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preparations are made for mysterious plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this is so late! All my writing effort is going into college essays right now. Hopefully as I settle into a routine and the work season ends I'll have more time for this!

2 April 1620

All my other usual symptoms are coming back. I suppose sooner rather than later I’ll have a new little one, a new baby to raise--hopefully for the better. I wonder what we’ll name them. Not Luke again, obviously. But I don’t know what a good name is. I’m just worried I’ll name them the wrong thing and mess everything up again. I’m more worried I’ll do something wrong and I’ll miscarry or they’ll die young like my little Luke or I’ll raise them wrong, or…I don’t know. I’m just worried. I guess I know it’s irrational, but reason can’t cure anxiety. If it could, no one would be anxious ever again.

 

4 April 1620

It was not a good day at work. I still don’t get along with Johanna, and today she was just getting on my nerves--and I’m sure I was getting on hers. Nothing explosive happened, but I was just irritated all day, and when I got home I was in a horrible mood. Sigmun did the same thing he always does--he kissed me and wrapped his arms around me while we read together, and it made me feel better like he always does. And Dolora made one of her richer stews. I didn’t even have to tell her I was pregnant, like last time. Simonn probably knows, too, but I might just tell him later on. Just to be sure.

 

7 April 1620

Damn the nausea. I had to stay home today because I didn’t want to risk vomiting at work. Patrik came by around five in the afternoon to ask if I was alright.

“Um…Mrs. Vantas?”

“My goodness, that’s formal. You can call me Dianna.”

“Oh. Well, are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine now.”

“You were ill?”

“Pregnant, to be precise. And I still am.”

“Oh.” He shifted awkwardly, unsure what to say. “Congratulations?”

“Thank you. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I’m sorry, my father is in town tonight for supper.”

“It’s fine! But feel free to stay sometime, any time. Okay?”

He nodded. “I hope you feel better.”

“Thank you. See you tomorrow!”

“Goodbye,” Patrik said.

I hope he stays over sometime. Of all the men I’ve been friends with, he’s one of three who had no ulterior motives (Sigmun was my friend when he loved me, before I reciprocated, because we love each other as friends, too). It’s depressing how many of the friends I’ve made who’ve been men have simply hoped someday I’d fall for them (which is why they never end up in my journal much). At least I know my friends who are women, even the ones who love women, are my friends for the sake of friendship.

 

11 April 1620

Catherine guessed what was wrong with me today.

“Dianna, you’re pregnant again, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Good luck!”

“Thanks. I hope it all goes well. I mean, Dolora--Miss Maryam--is always telling me new things about how to be pregnant, and all that.”

“If you can’t trust the midwife, then who can you trust?” Catherine said, laughing. “My goodness. Well, whatever happens, I hope I see you at work!”

“Of course. My husband prefers to stay home with the baby.”

“I wish I could find a man like that sometimes.”

“I thought you didn’t want to work.”

“Yes, but I would like to keep up a social life, and get some sleep.”

“Those first few months I got almost no sleep. It’s a good thing I’ve got all my family around or I might’ve just passed out in the end! I loved my baby but he really had quite the voice.”

Catherine laughed again and said, “Well, best of luck. I need to get home, see you tomorrow!”

“See you!”

Patrik walked me home and even though I’m sick all the time, at least I have hope.

 

16 April 1620

Damara seems to be a healthy little one, for a baby only a month old, and she’s such a sweetheart. She loves all of us who’ve been taking care of her and, most important of all, she doesn’t mind being alone with Eleanor any more than Hannah. Eleanor’s husband is still a little confused, but he doesn’t seem to mind that much. He and Eleanor will probably have children of their own in a few years, if Hannah’s predictions are true. I’ve never really met the man but he seems alright. Eleanor’s quiet and reserved, but she’s kind and understanding, too. I think she’ll be a good mother.

 

17 April 1620

Simonn had that nightmare again last night. He has it often enough that I worry it must be something real, something big. And I worry both because it makes Simonn sick, and because I worry someday there might be something very bad happening to us. And maybe it’s soon.

 

20 April 1620

As of right now I’m lying in bed with a fever. I don’t want to be afraid but my goodness, I am. Dolora’s been giving me medicine but I’m terrified. I felt so sick this morning, and I assumed it was the pregnancy, but then I realized I was far too cold and now…now I’m lying in bed and Dolora’s insisting on fussing over me and Sigmun was just minutes ago holding my hand like he never would again.

I shouldn’t be scared, but I am. I know Dolora can treat just about anything but I worry.

 

22 April 1620

Patrik stopped by today and I heard him downstairs but I was too dizzy to stand up so Sigmun answered the door.

“Is Mrs. Va--Dianna home?”

“Yes. She has a fever. You are?”

“Patrik Zahhak. Her friend.”

“Oh, yes! I’ve heard about you. Would you like to come in?”

“No, thank you though. Er…will she be okay?”

“Yes. My mother’s treating her. Thank you for stopping by, I’ll tell her you were here.”

“May I ask your name?”

“Sigmun Vantas.”

“Her husband?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Uh…thank you. Have a nice day.”

“And you!”

Sigmun came upstairs, and I felt him take my hand.

“Love, you awake?”

“Mm-hmm.” My throat was dry as sand.

“Patrik stopped by, wanted to know how you are. I told him you’re going to be fine. You are going to be fine, love. I know you are.”

“I will be,” I said. I didn’t feel it, but I wasn’t going to say that.

I just hope Dolora knows what she’s doing.

 

28 April 1620

I was…alright today. After six days of being too sick to write, I’m a bit better now. I haven’t had any bleeding, so it seems I’m still pregnant too, which is deeply unexpected. Catherine stopped by to talk to me about work, and apparently Agnes is unhappy with me. But I can’t do a lot about being sick, and I would rather not have a fever.

I hope I’m better by tomorrow.

 

1 May 1620

Back to work today. Agnes just sort of nodded at me, but considering she once missed a whole month when she caught some sort of pox (I don’t remember what kind) she had nothing to say to me. Or, at least, nothing that wouldn’t be hypocritical. 

 

4 May 1620

I was walking home with Patrik today when he said the strangest thing. 

“Can I see the inside of your wrist?”

“Sure,” I said, and I held out my arm. 

“You can’t see your veins?”

“No. I work inside but I hunt.” 

He looked a little sad. “It’s odd. There’s an English expression for nobility--blueblood. Because the blood in our wrists in blue.”

“Yes, because they’re--you’re--the only ones who can afford to stay inside. What’s odd about that?”

“When I get a cut, the blood is still red. Inside, all the blood in my veins is as red as yours. So why do they call us bluebloods?”

“I suppose it’s all to do with the outward appearance. They say blood defines a person, so why wouldn’t the nobility be set apart by the very color of their blood?”

He shrugged. “I suppose. I can’t seem to find it in my heart to believe my blood is any different from yours.”

“It’s not. It just looks it.” 

He nodded. “I suppose no one would ever know if a peasant become king, or a prince a commoner. There is nothing outside to suggest one’s status besides the veins in our wrists.” 

“That’s true.”

He looked troubled. “What’s wrong, Patrik?”

“All my life, I have never doubted my blood. I have defined myself by my blood. Now I find myself doubting my blood, and by extension myself.” I like that Patrik doesn’t really have any trouble expressing himself, or any real reservations. He’s very straightforward. 

“Whoever you’ve been your whole life, that’s who you are. Just because your blood may not mean much, you’re still the same person.” I sighed and looked left. “When my mother left, I didn’t know who I was for a little while. But I’m the same person now I was then, in a sense anyways.”

He nodded. “I suppose. It’s remarkable to think that blood could mean so much or so little as one perceives it.” He still has that stiff way of speaking sometimes. 

“It is,” I said, and we lapsed into quiet thought for the rest of the walk home. 

 

5 May 1620

I haven’t been thinking so much about my pregnancy this time, but the nausea is still incredible and the aches all but unbearable. It’s nice at night when I sit with my family in the library, mending and reading and doing all our other chores, and when I cuddle up with Sigmun while I sleep. It eases some of the unpleasantness, or distracts from it anyways. 

 

8 May 1620

It’s astounding to me that I’m still finding books on the top shelves in Dolora’s library I haven’t read yet. But I did find one again today, one on medicine from that place Dolora gets her medical books from, where it never snows and there’s sand instead of dirt and hardly any trees. (I don’t remember the names of the countries, and I’ve never seen them written down.) It wasn’t fascinating, but it was worth reading. 

I ought to finish the Bible. It’s probably something worth knowing. 

 

11 May 1620

I pushed my way through Leviticus today. It was so impossibly dull, and so deeply nonsensical. It doesn’t strike me as particularly godly, either, not like Psalms. It just all seems like gibberish after a while. Anyways, it was written by humans, and I doubt we’ve got all the eloquence I assume God would have. 

Genesis is alright, though. It’s somewhat exciting, and it’s the mythology of my country the way Zeus and Hera are Greece’s and Jupiter and Juno are Rome’s. Things happen in Exodus, too. All that happens in Leviticus is that two people die and people are given an awful lot of rules that make not a lot of sense. 

I hope the rest is a bit more interesting. 

 

13 May 1620

There was the most awful thunderstorm today. Sigmun came home in utter terror, and he practically curled up on my lap. I heard him open and close the door and the next thing I knew he was sitting on my lap, pressing his head to my shoulder. 

“Love?” I asked. 

“S-Sorry,” he stammered, his teeth chattering badly. “I-I just h-h-hate thunderstorms.” 

“It’s alright, love. It’s alright. You’re safe here, we’re all safe.” I wrapped my arms around him and then I lied down and he rested his head on my chest, and I just held him until the storm passed. 

 

15 May 1620

I remember being young, when I first started going from a child to an adult, and I hated my body so much. I remember I thought my growing chest was so conspicuous, and it felt so large back then. I don’t suppose I’m any bigger than most women, but then everything felt so visible. I always felt my eyes were too big for my face, my hair too thick and tangled, my chest too large and too visible. Now I don’t think I’m much of anything special. Sigmun says he thinks I’m lovely but he’s my husband. I’m glad I don’t stick out the way I imagined I did back then. I hated my body so much back then, but it’s the only one I have and I’m grateful for it. 

 

18 May 1620

Sigmun’s making plans. I’ve no idea what for, but he’s making plans for something. I see him writing things down, studying and looking at maps and reading books about history. I know he’s planning something but he won’t talk about it and I don’t want to press too much, for the sake of kindness and respecting his privacy. 

 

22 May 1620

What with the farming season starting, I haven’t really seen Simonn much. But I know he’s been coming home because every night I leave out a cup of tea near the fire for him, and every morning the cup has been washed and put back with the rest of the mugs. I’m glad to know that. I leave out the tea so Simonn can have a cup before bed and so I know he’s come home, even if I don’t see him. 

Sigmun left a map out on our desk and I saw all the biggest towns in the country marked with different shapes. I haven’t a clue what he’s planning but I know it’s something big. 

 

25 May 1620

I was talking with Catherine today and she mentioned about Edward again. 

“He got himself together and asked for my hand again.”

“What did you say?”

“No.”

“How come?”

“He didn’t bother until he knew I would actually leave him. I don’t think he’s really going to make an effort to be a good husband unless there’s some sort of risk involved. A real donkey, with a carrot and a stick and all.” 

“Mm,” I said, nodding. “Well, I’m sure there are men out there who would care enough to get themselves together without a figurative stick.” 

“There must be,” Catherine said. “My goodness, I don’t want to end up an old maid!”

“Why not?” I never considered the possibility but by the time I was old enough to get married I had Sigmun. 

“I’d like children,” she said. “And I’d rather not work my whole life.”

I nodded. “There’s good men out there. You’ll find one.” 

“I’d like to think so.” 

“Oh, let’s talk about something happier. Aren’t you visiting the city soon?”

She lit up like the sunrise. “Yes! Agnes wants me to go get the nice fabrics from the trading ships. I’m so excited! I’ve never been to the city.”

“It was amazing,” I say, remembering the gardens and the library and the market. “Where are you staying?”

“A boarding house. It’s run by a woman, don’t worry.”

“Good,” I say. “You have to see some of the gardens in the city! Not to mention the library.”

“We can’t all read,” she said. 

“Not for the books. It’s just the loveliest building I’ve ever been inside.”

“Even the palace?”

“The palace is so dull! Just gray stone everywhere--or, at least, the visitor’s quarters.”

So we talked about the city until it was time to head home. 

 

27 May 1620

Sigmun had another one of his dreams last night. He woke me up in the middle of the night and said, “Dianna, love?”

“What is it? I’m pregnant, I need my sleep.”

He almost laughed at that. “I had a dream.”

“Those do tend to happen at night.” 

“No, I mean a future dream. It was so wonderful! You and I were at a huge school, twice the size of the city! It was…sort of like a university, but I’m not sure. You were teaching classes and working on a degree in Russian, I think, and you and I lived in this lovely little apartment--in the dream I knew that was what it was called--that was just two rooms, a bedroom and a living room that was also a kitchen and a company room. It was cozy and pretty and you and I lived in the same building--apartments are sets of rooms, like houses, arranged into buildings on hallways--as Simonn and Hannah, and they were married, and Mom was married to Rose and she was a doctor--it was so wonderful!”

“Sure sounds it.” 

“I just wish we lived then. We could be happy.”

I felt a little hurt. “Are you not happy now?”

“No, I am, but we were all happier then. Safer. I was…we were the same age we are now, and I was thinking about when we would get married and have children. I wasn’t thinking about if they survived. I knew they’d survive and I was just thinking about if you wanted children too. And Mama could get married, and you could go to university, and Mama was a proper doctor with a degree and everything. It was…better. You were happier too. I remember you talked to someone who took care of your mind because of…what your mother did. You even had medicine for it.”

“For what?”

“For the sadness.”

I suspect he knows more about that awful sadness from death, the lingering emptiness and the numbness on bad nights, than he lets on. I hate to write about it but I don’t think it’ll ever go away. 

“I don’t know why but I think it was harder for you in the dream, so the doctor gave you a medicine. It really helped! I remember you saying it helped you. Oh, and Simonn’s siblings were still dead, but he’d seen a doctor for that and he was okay in the now of the dream. And I…no one even cared that I didn’t have a father, or they didn’t seem to! It was…it was astounding. I mean, since Mama--I called her Mom in the dream--wasn’t married people were still sometimes mean. But I still had a job and everything, and no one really treated me like they do here.” He looked so wistful and gentle I thought my heart might melt. 

“It sounds wonderful.”

“It was.” He leaned his head on my shoulder and added, “I’m sorry to wake you. I thought you’d like to hear it.”

“Don’t worry about it, love. I did like to hear it.”

“Let’s go on to sleep, then.”

I nodded and rested my head on his chest to hear his heartbeat, slow and steady and constant. I can’t imagine there’s any place or any time I might feel safer than in my home, with my friends, knowing that no matter what might happen they will be there. 

 

30 May 1620

Sigmun asked me if I’d miss home if we left today. I know it’s to do with his preparations so I said I would but if it was for some place more interesting I’d be game to try it. I don’t think I could ever not miss home. It’s my place in the world, and the only place I’ve ever really felt safe. But if his plans are anything like what I imagine--and I know him well--we won’t be leaving for anywhere safe, or fun. Somewhere interesting, for sure. 

I want to change the world, but I’m afraid to leave home.


	45. In Which Society's Standards Suck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Society's standard are hard on those who can't reach them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been so shitty about this whole update thing! School and work and all that have been hard. I hope to get better about updates after this.

1 June 1620

The weather really is lovely. I’ve always liked the beginning of summer--it always feels happy and warm, like coming home. Like nothing can really hurt you. Of course by September I’m sick and tired of it and would rather have anything but the heat, but the tentative warmth of early summer really is comfortable. It’s better than the icy winter with all its blizzards and chill. I’m biased towards August, but I don’t like the chill. 

 

3 June 1620

I’m so glad to be past the nausea. The nausea is the worst by a mile, except for the very end. But it’ll be in winter this time, or at least cool weather. I hope I have an easy pregnancy this time around. Perhaps it’s a selfish wish but I hate all the pain from having a baby, much as I want children. 

Actually, why on Earth would that be selfish? It’s my body, I’m the one having a baby, why shouldn’t I wish for an easy pregnancy? I think others would tell me it’s selfish because the pregnancy is about the baby and I’m just incidental, or because it’s women’s punishment for eating the apples. But all the men don’t work the land, so shouldn’t they be called selfish for pursuing other professions? And I really don’t think I’m incidental to my baby’s birth. 

Or maybe I am selfish for wanting things to be easy for me. I don’t know. 

 

6 July 1620

I can’t believe I lost my journal! There’s no real reason to need it right now, because nothing terribly exciting is happening (or not a quick rate, anyway--babies do take a while to grow), but I don’t like losing it. It makes me nervous. 

 

8 July 1620

I was sitting on the couch after work today when Sigmun sat next to me and wrapped his arm around my waist. “How are you feeling these days?” he asked. 

“Well, I’m out of the nausea phase,” I say. “Which is good.”

“Hm,” he said, resting his head on my shoulder. “So you’re feeling good.” 

“I am.” I could tell he was planning something, so I asked. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

He dropped his voice and said, almost a whisper, “I’d have you right here, right now if you wanted me.” I love that husky note his voice gets when he wants me. I know it’s kind of selfish, but I like feeling wanted. I think everyone does. 

“Maybe not right here but right now sounds nice,” I said, just as quiet. It’s so much better being out of the first third, when I’m always nauseous and sick. 

Sigmun took my hand and pulled me up. He put his other hand on my waist and started dancing and I laughed like there was nothing in the world that could be sad. Sometimes I’m just so happy with him. I mean, my goodness, I’m usually happy with my husband! But there are moments when I’m so happy it overwhelms me. 

None of us play music, so we just danced without music all around the house and up to our room. 

Even on my darkest days, I know I’ll always have my family. 

 

10 July 1615

Sigmun came home today and greeted me by saying, “I had an idea for a name, love.”

“What?” I asked. 

“How about Kieran?”

“What on Earth?” I asked. 

“It just occurred to me the other day. Sounds like a good name. If it’s a boy.”

“I suppose. Kieran sounds like a good name.” 

“I was just thinking about it the other day. I don’t have any ideas for a girl’s name.”

“I like Madeline.” 

“Good name.”

“Well, it’s a bit early to be thinking of names,” I said. 

“I suppose.” He kissed me quickly and said, “I have to start dinner. Love you.”

“Love you too.” 

 

12 July 1620

I don’t like to write about Damara much because I know it’s wrong but looking at her reminds me too much of my little Luke. The little one is almost four months old. She’s sweet, if a little shy sometimes, and she’s attached to Hannah and Eleanor. I haven’t seen her interacting with Simonn because Simonn’s always at the farm these days so he just visits them at night, but I assume they get along. Simonn’s the right sort. 

It’s just so sad sometimes to remember that I had a baby once, and I’ll never have him back, and it just hurts so very much. I haven’t stopped thinking about him, even though I’m not half-mad with grief anymore (or so I suppose). 

I suppose my new baby might help--I won’t be the only one with a new little one to care for, and I guess I’ll have some solidarity with Hannah and Eleanor so I don’t have to feel so alone. Or, I don’t know, I don’t have to be the only woman in the world who’s done so much wrong in her life that she’s to be punished this way. 

 

14 July 1620

Today was Sigmun’s birthday! It was such a lovely day. Besides that it didn’t rain--it never rains on his birthday, it’s the most incredible luck--we had a nice supper and Simonn was home, which he hardly ever is, and we’re going to have a baby soon, and I was just so happy. Sigmun was all but glowing. I found him a new pair of boots, Dolora gave him a shirt with embroidery on the collar, and Simonn gave him a thin book about the New World. We all had baked apples after dinner and read together in front of the fire, and when Sigmun and I went to bed he was quite surprised I’d thought this through a little more. 

He’s still very attractive, I think, even though he snores sometimes and tries to get me up early and forgets to do the chores. 

 

15 July 1620

I thought I was alright, but I guess…I must’ve done something wrong. Something. When I woke up this morning, I was up before Sigmun. I was confused until I felt the most awful twisting feeling in my stomach.

“Sigmun, wake up! Sigmun!”

“Dianna? What?”

“Sigmun, something’s wrong,” I was breathing hard and I was scared, on the edge of tears. “I--my stomach hurts and--hell!” I felt something, like labor but not quite as bad, sort of like the first time I miscarried.

“I’m getting Mama. Lie down, love, breathe deep.”

I tried but I was scared and I could feel blood on my legs and I was so frightened.

“Mama, wake up! Dianna’s…something’s wrong, I don’t know what, but I told her to stay still.”

“Alright. Go downstairs and get my herbs for blood loss and a glass of water.”

I heard the floor creak and Dolora opened the door. “Dianna, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know! I…my stomach hurts and it feels like labor--am I miscarrying again?”

Dolora nodded. “I think so, dear. Come on, sit up.”

“Huh?”

“Sit on a chair. Gravity will help it go quicker, like with labor.” I suppose that’s the logic behind the chair Dolora brings when someone’s in labor.

She helped me to a chair and had me sit there while she mixed up some medicine. “Here, take this. And don’t go to work today. Rest in bed.”

I took the medicine after the bleeding stopped and let her help me change and get to bed. “Dolora?”

“Hm?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“Nothing at all, dear. You’re perfectly fine.”

“What did I do?”

“Nothing, dear. Sometimes this just happens. Plenty of people have a miscarriage, and most often there’s no reason for it.”

“But this is my second.”

“And plenty of women have two. Dear, it’s alright. There’s nothing wrong with you. Just rest up and you’ll feel better tomorrow. But don’t go to work. Stay home and rest up. Drink plenty of water, and I’ll have some herbs for you.” She kissed my forehead like I was a child and squeezed my hand before she left. 

Sigmun came back and sat next to me, taking my hand and kissing my cheek. “Are you alright, love?”

“No.” 

“Do you think you will be?”

I nodded. 

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

I shook my head. “Just be here.” 

“Alright.” He got back in bed--because it was before dawn--and held me to his chest like he does when I have nightmares. “It’s going to be okay, love. It isn’t now, but it will be. I love you.”

“Love you too,” I said, and I’m sure my voice was weak because he pulled me closer like he does when he’s nervous or worried. 

Of course I didn’t go to work. I listen to the midwife; I’m not stupid (or so I’d like to think). I felt…well, not alright, but not so terrible like after the first time. Heaven only knows why. 

 

17 July 1620

What a time, right after my husband’s birthday. We were so happy! I thought we might be able to be happy again. I thought we could have a family, in the most traditional sense, and we could be happy! I suppose I know I could be happy without having children but I want to be a good person. I don’t know what I’ve done that means I can’t be a good person. I try to be good, and I don’t think I’ve done anything terrible. I know I didn’t listen to my mother but she was so cruel! Perhaps…oh, I don’t know. I wish I was a good person. 

 

20 July 1620

I haven’t really brought up my musings to my family because I know they’d tell me I am a good person and sometimes bad things happen. I know they’d say that even though it’s not true. They always say--and my mother always said, even when she wasn’t drunk--that if you can’t have children it means you’re a bad person. I know they’d try to comfort me even though they shouldn’t. 

I might talk to Hannah but she’s busy enough. Neolla and Mariek don’t want children. Catherine…I’m not sure Catherine would understand. Certainly none of my other coworkers. That’s who I have in the world. 

I don’t know what to do. 

 

20 November 1620

Well…in the months I’ve lost this journal, I got pregnant again and now I’m just constantly worrying about losing it. I spend almost every moment worrying about what will happen to my baby. I’m driving myself mad with worry--and I haven’t been able to write, which makes it worse. 

I need to calm down. 

 

23 November 1620

It happened again today. I was walking home and I felt something in my stomach twisting and I might’ve fainted except Patrik was there and he helped me home. He panicked because I was bleeding and I might’ve tried to console him but I was pretty worried myself.

“Dianna dear, what--who--oh, just come in. Lie down on the couch, and I’m going to get you some water. Go with her,” she ordered Patrik. Patrik just followed me, still holding me up, and I got to the couch in the end, feeling nervous and sick. It’s always the same: my stomach starts twisting and feeling too tight, and then there’s all these awful feelings like labor but not quite as bad, and then the blood.

Dolora had me drink some water and take something for the blood loss, and then she told Patrik he could leave. I felt awful, but I’m not sure if it was my mind or my body, or both.

“I can’t have children, can I?”

“Dear, I can’t say that for certain. Luke was perfectly fine.”

“For fourteen months.”

“He died of illness.”

“If…if I wasn’t your daughter-in-law. What would you tell me?”

She sighed and looked left. “I would have to advise you to avoid another pregnancy. It could be dangerous for you, and it would definitely be very hard on your body. And there’s no guarantee your baby would be healthy.”

I nodded. I didn’t want to cry, because I’m sure it was just the miscarriage and the stress making my eyes water, but I feel like I’ve spent my whole life being told that not having children is a punishment. I thought…I thought after everything with my mother, after coping with everything she did to me, I wasn’t really being punished for anything anymore. I thought I might have a chance to be a good person. But I guess there’s still something wrong with me, or wrong about me, that I’m now being punished again. I know I don’t really deserve the happiness I have with my family, but I thought maybe I’d be allowed it.

I suppose not.

 

23 November, Later

Sigmun came home and saw me curled up on the couch (after I changed and soaked my clothes in cold water, like Dolora does to get out blood stains), and I guess he could tell something was wrong.

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“What happened?”

“I…I miscarried again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he sat next to me to put his arm around my shoulders. He kissed the top of my head and then asked, “What did Mama say?”

“Just to keep an eye on the bleeding, like always. And…she said not to have another baby. It would be bad for my body.”

He nodded. “Alright.”

“Alright?”

“Alright, we won’t try to have another baby. Unless you want to?”

I shook my head. I don’t think I can bear this one more time.

“Then I’d rather not risk your health if I can help it, and I’m sure we can adopt a child if we want to.”

“You sure?”

He wrapped an arm around my waist to tug me a little closer and kissed the top of my head again. “Before we were married I told you I would love you no matter how many children we had. I meant it, love.”

“I know.” I shrugged, and then said, “I suppose I’m just sad. Does that make sense? How can I miss someone I never knew?”

“Easily,” Sigmun said.

“And why do you say that?”

“I miss them, too. Children we never had. Not that it’s your fault! But I miss them, too.”

“Love, you need to tell me these things!”

“I thought it would make you feel guilty!”

“Well…yes, but you’re always telling me to keep everything in, and you shouldn’t either.”

“Alright. I miss the babies you and I never had, and I wish so badly that they’d been born because I want children.”

“Me too,” I said, and I curled up a little closer so he could hold me. Maybe it’s silly but I feel better when he holds me, because then I know there’s someone there for me, someone who loves me.

 

25 November 1620

I went back to work today and Catherine looked me up and down and said, “What happened? You look sick.”

“Um…I…I’m not pregnant anymore. Again.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah, me too. And Dol--Miss Maryam told me I shouldn’t have any more children. Said it could be dangerous for me.”

“I’m so sorry to hear that,” she said, genuinely sympathetic. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Maybe adopt a child.”

She looked at me, confused. “Pardon?”

“It’s what my mother-in-law did. I mean, she didn’t give birth to my husband!”

“Really?”

I didn’t realize Catherine didn’t know that. “Yes…She found him. His birth mother--he met her once, when we were sixteen--abandoned him because she couldn’t take care of them. I thought everyone knew!”

“Everyone told me she was unmarried when she gave birth to him so the midwife--Roxanne, I think--took her in.”

“Odd. I mean, I know she didn’t give birth to him. He met his birth mother.” I tried to puzzle out in my head why Dolora would let people think that about her, but I couldn’t think of anything. Some of the men in the village make such nasty comments (I’ve never heard any of the women say such things, and I suspect why), and I have no idea why she’d let them. I wouldn’t be able to stand it.

 

26 November 1620

I just asked Dolora today.

“How come you let them say such awful things about you?”

“Pardon?”

“You know what they say about you in the village, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Why do you let them say it?”

“Because it is better that they think I am an adulterer and honest. I could never persuade them of the truth without giving away my biggest secret--and so it is safer that I be an unproven adulterer and an honest woman than a woman who loves women or an adulterer and a liar.”

“How do you stand it?”

“Well, I know they’re wrong. So do Rose, and all of you. Everyone who matters knows the truth, and if the rest of the village is going to be wrong, then so be it.” 

I didn’t understand but I suppose someday I might. I suppose it could be better to let the world be wrong if you know you’re right. I’d just rather not be so alone. 

 

28 November 1620

I guess I’m not as subtle as I thought I was. 

“What’s wrong?” Simonn asked while we were sitting together in the library.

“What do you think?” I said, feeling grumpy. 

“No, beyond that. Something else. I know you’re not telling us something,” Simonn said. “I know I’ve been gone a lot lately but I know you. What’s wrong, Deedee?” 

“I…what did I do?”

“What?” 

“What’s wrong with me? What did I do? Why--what did I do wrong? I must’ve done something! I…I don’t think I’ve done anything wrong! What did I do?” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“I can’t have children! What am I doing wrong?” 

Sigmun sat on the couch next to me and said, “What on Earth is going on?” 

“I did something wrong and I can’t have children and I don’t know what I did! I’m sick of being a bad person and I don’t even know why!” 

“Well, for a start, you’re not a bad person,” Sigmun said, exactly as expected. 

“I knew you’d say that,” I said miserably. “Which is why I didn’t tell you.” 

“Well, what did you expect?” Sigmun asked. “I don’t tell lies.” 

“You say what you believe,” I clarified. “It could be a lie if you think it’s true.”

“Well, I know it’s not a lie. You’re a good person.”

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “You’re just saying that because you’re my best friends. You’re supposed to say that.” 

“Anyone ever told you that sounds childish?” Simonn asked. 

“Oh, hush. I could predict you saying that if I was seven years old. You say that because you’re my best friends and so you try to make me feel better. I want to know what’s wrong with me, not what I want to hear!”

“Well, besides being stubborn, you worry too much about what others think about you and repress your feelings without looking for ways to express them,” Simonn said. I hit his shoulder. 

“I’m not looking for flaws, I’m trying to figure out what I’ve done wrong,” I explained. 

“Nothing,” Simonn said. “Why would you say that?”

“Because something has to be wrong! That’s the way things work.”

“Do you think people get diseases because they did something wrong? Or that they die in accidents because they were bad people?” Simonn asked. Sigmun was sitting there, looking pensive. 

“Well, why do you think that happens?”

“Because things happen in the world that are out of everybody’s control! I don’t believe in God but even if I did I think there are some things no one can control! Bad things happen to good people, saints get martyred, and sometimes bad things happen!” 

“For a reason!” 

“Not always! Dammit, if I can’t convince you there’s nothing wrong with you, what will?”

“I don’t know!”

Sigmun took my hand like he does and said, “Five things you like about yourself.”

I glared at him. 

“Just five.” 

“Fine. I’m…I’m good at languages. I have a family. I’m a good seamstress. I…I’m kind. And I can make friends.”

“See? Five things that you are that don’t depend on whether or not you have children,” he said. “You’re worth more than that.” 

I was so tired I didn’t want to move, so I leaned on Simonn’s shoulder and closed my eyes and listened while they read. I was just so emotionally exhausted. 

They might be right. I don’t really know. I’m not that strong.


	46. In Which We See Plans Begin to Emerge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see plans forming as things being to change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will probably be the last chapter until at least December. Once again, this is not my NaNoWriMo project and (in a new twist) I have college apps. So sorry to leave you all in suspense!
> 
> Thanks for all the great comments lately--if you guys keep it up I'm going to cry from happiness.

1 December 1620

I’ve been getting better steadily since Luke but I felt that awful feeling again today, so sad I think I might never be happy again. It’s not even sad, sometimes, so much as cold and numb. I can’t really tell. It’s just hard to wake up and go through the motions of life. I rely heavily on my family these days, and they’re there for me. But I don’t want to be such a wreck. I shouldn’t be so upset about this! I mean, I want children and I can’t have children but I don’t think I should be so torn up about it. Or maybe I should, I don’t know. I’m terrible at knowing how I should feel. 

 

3 December 1620

I didn’t even realize Advent had started. It’s easy to forget holidays at times like this, or when I’m feeling like this. Happy Advent. 

 

5 December 1620

Dolora and I were sitting at the table drinking tea when she said, “Dianna dear, I’ve been thinking on what you said to me, about the people in the village thinking I gave birth to Sigmun.”

“Yes?” I said. 

“I assume you know what they say about you.”

“Of course I do.”

“That you have no children because you slept with Sigmun before you were married?”

“I know. Believe me.”

“Why don’t you tell them otherwise yourself?”

“They’d never believe me. Just because I know I didn’t doesn’t mean everyone else doesn’t. And they’re wrong, I know that. I’m not cursed because of that.” If I flat-out told her I think I am cursed she’d try to convince me otherwise so I didn’t. 

“So you understand.” 

“But they might believe you!”

“No more than you, dear.” 

“I suppose…”

“People believe what they want to believe. They always will.” She sighed, heavier than she’d normally let me hear, and sat at the table with me. “It’s alright, dear. There are always people who listen.”

“I know.”

“I know you do, Dianna dear. I ought to start supper.” 

“I’ll work on the mending.”

“Very good, dear,” she said, kissing my forehead like I was a child again. 

I suppose she’s right. I’ve never bothered really denying rumors about me because I know no one would listen, or care. I just hope someday I’ll find someone outside my family who doesn’t think I’m cursed. 

 

24 December 1620

I’ve been terrible about writing throughout Advent! Normally I write when I feel so emptied-out inside like this but I haven’t really had the will to write. But I’ve been feeling a little better lately, and I think I’ve made some peace with the children I never had. So I’m determined to at least try to enjoy myself this Christmas. I missed All Hallows’ and All Saints’ this year so I hope I can go to Christmas. 

 

25 December 1620

Christmas was actually fun this year. Simonn had time off, finally, so we all dressed up and went to the village for the festival. I feel like I haven’t seen Simonn in months. I miss him sometimes. He’s my best friend. 

Anyways, we went to the village and the square was icy but Mrs. Jacobson and Mr. Topham were playing fiddle and everyone was dancing. I’m glad we’re not Puritans--the ones who went to the New World. They don’t dance at all! I don’t remember why--it probably leads to “lewd behavior” or something of the sort, like Patrik says (he refuses to dance). I didn’t feel…not the way I usually do at festivals, not that bubbling joy I used to feel. I felt happy, I think. But not like I used to. Sometimes I’m scared I’ll never feel the way I used to again. 

So I just did my best to be happy. I don’t think I have to be happy all the time; just sometimes. But I do like it when I’m happy. 

Anyways, I danced until my feet hurt and then sat with my friends and watched other people dancing. Sometimes watching the dancing I miss Etta. I hope she’s happy at her home. I hope her mother’s doing alright. I also saw Edward looking at Catherine, and Catherine decidedly looking away. I think she had feelings for him, even though they won’t be married. 

We went home for dinner and it was delicious. With everyone working, we had plenty to make a delicious dinner, all the fixings--turkey, stuffing, potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, and of course a pudding. I had that tea Dolora has me drink, with St. John’s wort. (She says it’s good for the sadness and the emptiness.) I ate until I was full and of course we exchanged gifts. Part of me wishes we did this on Boxing Day like everyone else, but part of me likes having our own traditions in my family. 

Since we still don’t have much money, after the dinner, each person got one gift, like we do. We got Sigmun a new book on the New World, with pictures this time. Simonn got a new bunch of magnets, better ones. Dolora got the best herbs we could get Rose to bring in secret and then a book Rose has already wrapped before we got it. (Dolora blushed terribly when she opened it. I can only imagine.) And my family got me a book in German--it was even a sweet romance. I don’t know how they knew. They don’t speak German. The only other person I know who does is Patrik. 

I missed Luke so much today. I almost always miss him but today I remembered his first Christmas, when we could hardly afford our dinner but we were all so happy. We were happy, once upon a time. I think we were happy, or maybe I dream we were. I’ve always had a family in them and I’ve always loved them but I’m not always sure we were happy, or if I imagine that. 

My love tells me we were happy. My best friend and my mother-in-law tell me we were happy. If I can’t trust them, who can I trust? 

 

30 December 1620

I should think of some New Year’s resolutions. I can’t think of any besides perhaps be less sad, but I can’t do much about that. I drink the tea Dolora gives me and sometimes I pray and sometimes I cry when the mood strikes, but there’s not much I can do to lift the heavy weight of sadness off my shoulders. 

 

31 December 1620

I’ve come up with a few, and I hope they’re good ones.   
1\. Try to be happier  
2\. Talk with my family more  
3\. Keep up with my journal  
4\. Read more

 

1 January 1621

This is the second year without my baby. I don’t know how I’m going to keep doing this. Whenever I think about him it’s like someone stabbed me in the heart, and though sometimes remembering him with my family makes me feel better because I know others cared about him, sometimes I can barely stand to think about him because it hurts so much. 

Sometimes Sigmun and I remember together, and sometimes Simonn and I remember together, and sometimes Dolora and I remember together, and sometimes we all remember together. But sometimes all I can manage to do is cry. 

 

8 January 1621

I think Catherine’s up to something. Heaven only knows what, but something. 

I talked with Neolla and Mariek again today and they seem happy. I can’t really tell if they’re together but they seem it. They should be together, anyways. I think they’re good for each other. They seem to care about each other a lot, and I think that’s important. I mean, I care about Sigmun. I love him! I think Neolla and Mariek love each other. It’s hard to tell, because they love differently, but I think as long as they love each other, everything will work out. 

 

14 January 1621

I had the most terrible nightmare last night. I dreamed that I lost my baby again, except this time it was worse because I killed him. I don’t know what happened but in the dream I knew I had killed my baby. I knew that my family hated me for it and I was alone and afraid and I woke up with my breath caught in my throat like I was going to cry. I didn’t want to wake up Sigmun so I just hugged him closer and tried to fall back asleep to his steady heartbeat. As long as his heart is beating, I know he’s there. 

 

18 January 1621

I wish my monthly bleeding would go away. It’s supposed to be linked with childbearing and I can’t bear any children. 

I’m thinking of it because I woke up this morning and I could tell my bleeding was going to start soon. So I rolled over to face where Sigmun shaves in the morning and said, “You know what’s terrible?”

“What?” 

“Owning a womb.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, love.” 

“Do. And if you don’t mind, could you get me some of Dolora’s pain medicine? It’s in the blue jar.” 

“Sure, love.” He kissed me and went downstairs. He always gets up early and by the time I’m awake, he’s done shaving. I think he’s better-looking with a little bit of a beard, but his hair grows fast (when we were children Dolora had to cut his hair at least once a month) so by dinner he usually has a handsome scruffy beard. 

Someone once told me--it might’ve even been Elizabeth or Mary, maybe Jean--that you can tell you love someone if you still think they look good after a haircut. I imagine that means I do love Sigmun. He looks good even when he gets his hair cut. 

 

25 January 1621

I went downstairs last night and found Simonn sitting at the table with his tea like he does. I didn’t say anything; I made my own cup of tea and sat in my usual seat. (I sit with Sigmun on my left, Simonn on my right, and across from Dolora.) 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

“I’m sitting with you.”

“Why?”

“I care about you.”

“I just had a nightmare. Go back to bed.”

“I’ve had nightmares. You think I don’t understand what it’s like? Talk to me.”

“It’s not important.”

“Simonn, your name means ‘the listener’. Let someone else do the listening for once.” 

“And Peter means ‘the rock’. I’m fine.”

“I’ve said it before, I’ll say it again. Fine people don’t drink tea at midnight.” 

“I’ve been having this terrible feeling of…dread. Something bad is going to happen to us. All of us. I don’t…I can’t even tell. But it’s something bad.”

“No idea?”

“None at all.”

“Then don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not that easy.” 

“I know. But you can’t spend all your time worrying about something you can’t control. It’ll drive you mad.” 

“You’d know.”

“I have had a very long experience with things I can’t control. And each one drove me mad.”

“You’re not mad.”

“I’d like to think so.” 

“You’re my best friend--I would know if you were mad.”

“I’ve felt mad before. Have you ever been so sad you don’t feel sad at all anymore?”

He nodded. “So sad you just feel emptied out.”

“Doesn’t it feel like being mad?”

He nodded again. 

“Don’t worry about it, Simonn. You can’t control it. Whatever is coming for us, it won’t be for a while. We’re safe. Don’t worry.”

“I can’t just not worry.”

“I know.” I took his hand, even though he has much bigger hands than me, and held tightly. He’s ridiculously bony and I could feel his bones through his skin. It worries me, and I wish I could do something about it, but no matter how much I insist he eats he never gains any weight. 

I worry. 

Simonn went to bed before I did, which is rare. When I was sure he was asleep, I found all the alcohol in the house excepting what Dolora uses to clean wounds and knock people out for stitches and dumped it out. I worry about Simonn, and I don’t want him going that route. 

 

30 January 1621

Catherine is definitely up to something. I don’t know what, but I’m sure she’ll tell me at some point. She’s like that--she can’t keep secrets for long. 

 

4 February 1621

Today at work Catherine tapped me on the shoulder and said, “Hey. I’ve got something important to tell you.”

“What?”

“I’m engaged!” She held up her left hand to show me a pretty little ring. “We’re getting married in a month.”

“Who?” I haven’t heard her mention a special boy since Edward.

“James Carpenter. He’s a guard in the palace!”

“Oh my goodness, that’s amazing!” She always said she wanted to live in the city.

“Yes.” She seemed to be glowing. “He’s a good man, and he’s got a good job, and he seems to respect me--somewhat, anyways. Better than most men! But I’ll be moving to the city. So I’ll be leaving here.”

“Oh, I’m going to miss you.”

“Me too. But I’ll write.”

“I will too.”

There was a pause before we both grinned and laughed again.

I’ll miss Catherine. But I can practically feel Sigmun making plans to start the changes he always talked about in our childhood and I have a feeling I won’t be at work much longer.

 

7 February 1621

I think I’m going to miss home. How could I not? If I’m right and we are leaving soon, I’m going to miss my home. I’ll miss Catherine and Susan and hell, Jane and Agnes. (Not David, though.) I’ll miss the festivals and the forest and still calling all the village adults Mr. and Mrs. even though I’m an adult, too. I’ll miss everything about home. I’m almost afraid to leave--this place is all I’ve ever known. Sigmun’s always had a sort of wanderlust--that’s a word Patrik’s used--but I’ve never really wanted to leave here. 

But neither can I stand to stay here alone, or to let horrible things happen to people when I could do something. 

 

12 February 1621

I met Neolla and Mariek today after work in the village, except Neolla was dressed as Nelson and Mariek was holding her hand. 

“What happened to Sumner?” I asked. 

“What about Sumner?” Mariek asked. 

“Last I heard you were thinking about getting engaged!”

Mariek laughed. “No, that’s just what I told Aunt Katherine to get her off my back.” 

“Then are you two…?”

“None of your business,” Neolla said lightly. 

I smiled. “You guys are so sweet together! It’s adorable.” I’ve always liked romance and the idea of romantic love, as long as I can remember. I’m glad I was lucky enough to find it. 

“How are you and your lover--sorry, husband,” Mariek said, with that teasing tone she uses to get under my skin. 

“We’re just fine, thanks.”

“You sure?” Neolla asked. “I heard about your children. Or. Um.”

I nodded. “Yes, I imagine word got out.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. 

“Me too,” Mariek said. 

I nodded. “Me too.”

“If there’s anything we can do…” Neolla offered, but I really didn’t want to think about it anymore. 

“No, I’m alright. How’s your practice going?” 

“Alright. You know Mr. Jefferson?” 

“How could I not?” 

“He’s at my office once a month, ready to sue someone else for something. I think he’s going mad.” 

“I thought we all knew that!” Mariek joked. I tried to smile back but I was very tired. Either way, I chatted with them a little while longer and then headed home. A fool could see they’d be good together. I hope they see it someday. 

 

15 February 1621

I wonder if a day will ever come when I see Damara and don’t want to cry. My best friends’ daughter--all but my niece! I shouldn’t cry, just because I miss my own little one. Hannah deserves better! All of us women support each other in this endeavor of raising children, and I am Hannah’s friend, and Simonn’s best friends. Eleanor’s taken over most the care, but my friend’s sister is my friend. And the little one is Hannah’s daughter. I’d never abandon my friends like that. 

I think--I believe--that is my little one grew up, Hannah and Simonn would’ve been the best help for Sigmun and me. Between them and Dolora and my other friends, I think he would’ve had a wonderful family. 

 

19 February 1621

Last night, Sigmun said the oddest thing. 

“Love?”

“Hm?”

“Does it bother you that we pay taxes and yet have no voice in our government?”

“You know it does.” 

“And…perhaps…would you like to do something about it?”

“Of course.”

“Something like…perhaps…starting a revolution?”

“Love, what are you asking me?”

“Nothing!”

“Sigmun, I’m your best friend.”

“I…I’m still working on an idea. I’ll tell you once it’s done.”

“Alright, love. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, love.”

As if I can’t see right through him. 

 

22 February 1621

I confronted him about it today. “Love, what are you planning?”

He jumped about a mile in the air. “Nothing!”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“Um…sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize. What’s your plan?”

“I…I have an idea. We’ve been dealing with all these unfair laws and injustices, and Candas lives a day’s walk away and she doesn’t care, and I just don’t think that’s fair! We have to do something about it!”

“Like what?”

“I want to start a revolution,” he said, eyes all but shining. “We can find people--talk to people--help people! We’ll get people to see how unfair it is, and we’ll get hundreds--thousands--of people to march up to the palace and make them change. Not to hurt anyone. Just to change things.”

“My goodness, and you said this idea wasn’t finished yet!”

“It’s not.”

“Love, you have a revolution planned out. I’ve seen your map.”

“I…I suppose.”

“And you want us to come with?”

“I can’t do this alone. You know me.”

“I do, love.” 

“Will you?” he asked, almost pleading. 

I felt so guilty, but I said, “I don’t know.”

“What?” he sounded so forlorn. 

“Hannah and Simonn’s child. My job. My friends at work. I have duties here.” 

“Catherine’s leaving! Hannah has her sisters! Someone else can sew the buttonholes.”

“Love, I don’t know. Alright? I just need to some time.”

“I…alright.”

“I’m sorry. I just need to think.” And to write. 

“No, don’t apologize. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

I don’t know what I think. I do have duties here, however small. I have buttonholes to sew, friends to converse with, a child to help out with. But more than that--I love this town. I love my friends and I love the woods, the stream, the river, the clearings, the bridge, the boulder, the town, the buildings, the square, the fountain, all of it. I feel safe here. I feel loved here. This is the place I feel is my home. It is my home. I’ve just felt that this is where I should be.

Is it time to leave? 

 

24 February 1621

Catherine left today. After work, she took my hands and told me she was going. 

“I’m meeting him in the city tonight, and we’re getting married tomorrow,” she said. “He’s been writing letters--he’s so sweet.”

“I’m so happy for you, Catherine,” I said. “Don’t forget to write!”

“I won’t! I’m going to miss you.” She hugged me and I already knew I’d miss her. She’s not smart, and she’s not one I’d have great conversations about human nature with, but she’s kind and funny and heaven knows she can read people. 

I hope she’s happy in the city. I hope she’s happy with her new husband and the children she’ll have and the home she’ll live in. I hope she’s happy. 

 

28 February 1621

I’m afraid that if we do leave and start a revolution, things will never be the same. Well, obviously things would never be the same but I’m afraid that I might lose my family. I’m afraid we’ll all be changed beyond recognition and we won’t be able to love each other. I’m so afraid to lose them.


	47. In Which Things Really Start Happening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are finalized as our heroes prepare to leave home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting through November, guys! There'll be another break until I get all my college apps in, and then hopefully regular updates.

1 March 1621

It’s never occurred to me how incredibly lucky I am that I grew up seeing myself equal to men. And not just that: I am married to a man who has never hit me, never even tried to force me into bed, never touched me without my consent, never demanded anything of me, never thought I was too smart or too independent, who thinks of me as an equal. I am very lucky to have that and it’s incredible to think that mine is a one-in-a-million marriage.

I’m thinking of this because Mariek stormed in unannounced today, slammed the door behind her, and said, “Don’t let a tall man with brown hair and eyes in. Especially if he asks for someone called Mary.”

“Mariek? What happened?” I asked.

“Take a guess!” she snapped. “That bastard I’m supposed to marry attacked me! Again! I’m sick to death of him and there is no way in hell I’m going to marry that fuckface!” (I quote directly.) She sounded beyond angry as she threw her ring across the room. I guess she’s really done with that engagement. I didn’t know she was engaged, so this was all news to me. 

“Take a breath, Mariek. Tea?”

“Yeah, I’ll have a cup. Seen Neolla anywhere?”

“She’s probably at work, being Nelson,” I said, pouring a cup of tea for myself and one for Mariek. I brought them both to the table and sat down next to her. “So, what happened?”

She took a sip before continuing. “Mint? It’s great.”

“Thanks. It’s Dolora’s.”

“Hm,” Mariek took another sip and said, “I was just sitting at home, trying to make dinner, and you know I can’t cook for my life. And my aunt just goes, ‘Mary? Your fiancé is here.’ So I go, ‘Aunt Katherine, I am busy.’ And she goes, ‘Right here, right now, or I’ll slap you.’ I’m twenty-five damn years old! So I went there and he’s standing there, all menacing and angry like he gets. And he’s obviously had a few, right? More than a few. So I’m thinking it’s going to be a nice damn family time, but suddenly my aunt just goes, ‘I’ll leave you two alone. I’m going to the village for errands.’ We aren’t even married yet! Like I give a damn about marriage, but my aunt sure does.

“So anyways, she leaves and I’m stuck with him and he tries for small talk and fails, and he keeps calling me Mary. So then he tries to kiss me and I push him off cos there is no way in hell I want to kiss this, what, forty-five-year-old man? And then, he literally grabs my hair and tries to push me onto the couch and he’s so clearly drunk out of his skull, so I kick him in the crotch and run for it. My aunt’s going to kill me.”

“Oh, that’s horrible,” I said as sympathetically as I could.

“It was awful,” Mariek said. “That man is a sick, sick person.”

“Wait--Mary?”

“Oh yeah. He thinks my name is Mary. That way, if he tries to marry me, he won’t have my real name and he won’t be able to!”

“That is clever,” I said admiringly. Mariek’s very clever and good at planning things like that.

“Yeah, thanks. One of these days I’m just gonna pack all my stuff and go.”

“You could, you know,” I said. “I don’t want to say I’m encouraging you to run away, but—”

“Hell, I’d leave in a second if I had the money,” she said.

“Didn’t your mother leave you a lot of money? And you could sell that ring.”

“Wait--damn, you’re right,” Mariek said. “You can expect me back here tomorrow when I’ve got my own place. Do you have more of that mint tea?”

“Of course. Want to take some?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll need something to make my house feel like home.” She seemed exhausted. “Thanks for the help, Dianna. See you soon.”

“See you.”

Mariek left and I have a feeling she means it. She deserves better than that. I mean, all of us do. None of my friends, not even the meanest girls in the village, could ever deserve a man like that. I’m sure some marriages turn out alright, or the two even fall in love, but so many women end up in miserable marriages that it no longer surprises me when something like this happens. I don’t know what that says about marriage and I don’t know what it says about men and I don’t know what it says about women. But I think it’s sad that my marriage, my happy and equal and loving marriage, is a rarity. It’s sad and wrong and awful and I wish it could be any other way. I wish Mariek could marry a man who loves her (or a woman of course) and I wish Neolla could just be a lawyer not named Nelson. I wish Hannah could marry Simonn without him or her being accused of witchcraft and I wish Candas could be heir to throne without fighting for it. I wish Dolora could’ve married Rose because she loved her and I wish I didn’t have to defend my marriage to an illegitimate man every time it comes up. (And it seems to come up an awful lot.)

 

4 March 1621

Mariek came over again today and she seemed pretty smug and she told us she had her own house and she told that man she was never going to marry him, not in a million years.

“Good for you!”

“Thanks, Di.”

“I have a full three syllables in my name…Mary.”

“Shut up. You don’t mind when your lover calls you names.”

“He’s not my lover!”

“Right.”

“He’s my husband. You’re just messing with my head.”

“Guilty as charged,” Mariek said with a crooked sort of smile. “I won’t press for details.”

“MARIEK!”

“Oh, come on. You know as well as I do that it’s all utter nonsense, all this stigma and secrecy around--”

Of course Sigmun chose that moment to come home and kiss me hello. Mariek raised her eyebrows at me and I glared back.

 

8 March 1621

My husband is just the silliest man sometimes. We saw Twelfth Night last night--all four of us--and once we were home, when I was brushing my hair, Sigmun stood right behind me and rested his hands on his shoulders and said, “You know, love, some are born great. Some achieve greatness. And some have greatness…thrust upon them.”

“You have the dirtiest mouth of any man in the kingdom,” I said, but he could see in the mirror I was smiling.

“Would you like to test that theory?”

“Your mind is in the gutter.”

“Up to you, love.”

“Let me finish brushing my hair.”

“You know I’ll just mess it up again.”

“I know. But you know I like it just fine that way.”

“Alright, love.” He kissed my cheek and I finished brushing my hair.

 

9 March 1621

I feel terrible writing this, but it’s something that’s been bothering me for a while. Some mornings when I wake up and I’m with Sigmun, all I can see is forgetful and brash and optimistic to the point of stupidity. I remember how he always forgets his share of the chores, and how he snores, and how he gets up early and tries to be all cheerful with me, and I just get so annoyed! But some mornings I see a sort of sweet absentmindedness, bravery, faith in humanity. I remember how he’s always there for me and how he’ll always remember his chores in the end and how he can be just the sweetest man on Earth and how he really is very handsome, and then I remember how much I love him. It worries me that sometimes I think more about being irritated or upset with him than that I do love him. 

I think loving him, as my best friend and as my husband, is more important than the times I’m annoyed with him.

 

13 March 1621

I love spending time with Dolora. Today, she and I were home first, so we sat at the table with that mint tea everyone loves and just talked about things.

“Do you remember when you taught me how to write?”

“Oh, that was hilarious!”

“I just remember getting ink all over my hands and the table. And for all that, I got one measly letter a!”

“You know, it took me almost a year to learn to write.”

“A year?”

“Well, I was much older, too. I was about twelve. You see, my friend Margaret—we called her Maggie—she taught me how to write. She taught all of us how to write, even though Sybil said it was silly. Rebecca wrote endless love letters, and Miriam wrote poetry, and Maggie wrote in a diary of hers. I just wrote whatever I could, stories and poems and letters I never sent and even things like restaurant menus. I was obsessed with writing for months!

“And then I met Juliana! Juliana was the prettiest girl I’d ever met. She had this perfectly curled blonde hair and bright blue eyes, and on top of that she was tall and statuesque. I had such a crush on her! You know how it is: you notice everything about them, you can’t stop thinking about them, all that. But of course she loved men, and she was sixteen when I was twelve. I dreamed up all these elaborate schemes to tell her how I felt about her, but in the end I never pulled any of them off. Rebecca thought I was mad.

“Oh, but even more elaborate were my schemes to get into a real school, or the library! I was dead-set on going to school, no matter what. Of course, my parents didn’t approve. But my aunt Matilda, she was as determined as I was that I was going to school. The city had three schools then: the Catholic school, named after Pope Paul; the Calvinist school, called of course Calvin; and the secular school, Robertson’s. None of them would let me in because I was a woman, so Aunt Matilda just made up her mind that I was going to go this boarding school in the city, even though I was from the city. My family had this house, where my Uncle George and Aunt Geraldine lived, and she told the school I lived there. I was ten when she got me in. I spent all my time with other girls who were like me and I loved it! It was Maggie and Rebecca and Miriam and Sybil and Rose and I. Everyone knew us.

“On the weekends, we’d explore the city all day. We’d sit in the libraries and read for hours, or sneak into the museum--do you know what a museum is?”

“I do. They’re in the books, and I saw them in the city.”

“Right, of course. Anyways, we’d sneak into the museum and spend all day hiding from the men there. Rebecca always snuck out to see men she said she’d love forever. None of them lasted more than a month or two. I think she had at least three different Williams. I never understood her loves and it took me ages to realize it was because I didn’t love men at all! Of course, that was around when Rose asked us if we knew about women kissing other women. And it hit me that my love was directed at women! All because Rose asked about that…

“I told Rose I loved her when I was…hm…sixteen, it must’ve been, because it was around the time Ellen--my second-oldest sister--got married. I had guessed that she’d reciprocate and I was right. Rose was much braver than I, though. I always tried to look out for all of us, because we were troublemakers. I was probably the only one who didn’t get sent to the headmistress every week! Then again, I was probably also the cleverest about covering my tracks. My teachers all trusted me. I don’t know why; they really shouldn’t have.” Dolora laughed and I knew she was remembering a time when her life was simpler and happier and less weighty.

“Do you remember all those years ago when Sigmun first told you he loved you?”

“Of course I do! That was when my mother had me stuck inside. He snuck out in the middle of the night to bring me that letter he wrote.”

“You should’ve seen him at home! He spent an entire day just biting his nails and he wouldn’t tell me what was wrong. And then, the very next day, he was absolutely dancing on air! It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen! You know he left that letter you wrote him on the table? And he thought I didn’t notice!” She laughed and took a sip of tea.

I laughed, too. “I loved those letters. I’m sure I still have them somewhere.”

“Oh, I’m sure he does. He thought I never knew he was leaving the house late at night!”

“Really?”

“Really. He left letters all over the house and then he’d try to hide them, it was so funny!”

Both of us were still laughing over our cups of tea when Sigmun walked in and slammed the door. “I am not cooking tonight,” he said. I think that was reasonable, because he was covered with manure. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just--” I said, laughing.

“What?”

“Never mind that,” Dolora said. “I’ll make dinner tonight; I haven’t in a week or so.”

“Thanks,” Sigmun said gratefully. “I’m going to go clean up.” My poor husband; what a miserable job he’s ended up with. At least sewing buttonholes isn’t dangerous, or smelly.

 

16 March 1621

Sigmun came home today from work with manure all over his clothes again and he marched up to our room (where I was napping), stripped off his clothes like they’d done him some great personal wrong, and collapsed on our bed. 

I woke up because my love let out this sort of groan, like he was in great pain, and I said, “Love, what’s wrong?”

“Well, for a start, I quit.” 

“That sounds like a good thing.” 

“It is. But I’m just very tired.”

“Of course you are! Working in a stable is a hard job.” I reached out to fluff his hair, because normally he likes when I do that, and he leaned a little to my touch. 

“No, I mean I’m tired of going through jobs like this. I know I’m not a very good stablehand but I was fine at making shoes and selling grain…I’m just very tired of it all.”

“It’s alright, love,” I said, still playing with his hair. “You’re brilliant. It’s just that other people can’t see it.” 

He shrugged. 

“Aren’t you cold?” I asked, because he still wasn’t wearing anything. 

He shrugged again. “I’m just going to nap until dinner.” He looked up at me and said, “Stay with me?” 

“Of course, my love.” I held him to my chest and he dozed off, snoring slightly, but I couldn’t sleep. I was thinking about how people won’t hire an illegitimate man even if he’s good at his job and how the only job I’m allowed is sewing buttonholes and how Dolora spends half her time accused of witchcraft and how I hear Simonn pacing late at night and all these terrible things everyone knows but no one talks about. 

Sometimes I think I have no choice but to leave. 

 

21 March 1621

Sigmun and I were getting ready for bed and I was in the middle of washing my face when he said, “Do you think when--if--we leave, we could do speeches at festivals? People might listen.”

I coughed on some water I breathed in from surprise. “That would be dangerous!”

“Why?”

“The guards would be there, or the local nobles.” I hate thinking about the guards. I always remember March in 1614 and I get that awful shiver up my spine. The idea of just leaving home and talking to people didn’t make me as nervous as the idea of leaving home to talk in front of crowds, including people who have the power to hurt my family. Somehow him saying that made it so much more real and I was so much more scared, right on the edge of saying no for good. 

“Well, they might listen.” 

I was feeling frustrated and I hate how he has such faith in people because I know people aren’t that good and I’m so afraid of losing them and so I snapped. “Sigmun, you can’t!”

“Why can’t I?” 

“You’d be putting us all in danger! Do you realize what could happen if we’re caught?”

“Do you realize what could happen if we don’t do anything? We can’t just let things stay! We can’t keep following the rules!”

“The only reason I am alive is because I know the rules! Sigmun, I got away from my mother because I played by and around her rules! You and I have jobs because we know the rules and we play by them! You know what happens when people break the rules! Look at Hannah and Simonn! Look at Dolora! Look at you!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Your blood parents broke the rules and look where that landed you!”

“In the best childhood I could’ve had!”

“Abandoned on a street corner! The only way we can survive is by knowing the rules and playing by them! You’ve seen the executions! It’s the only way we can survive!”

“But it’s not the only way we can live!”

“You’re putting us all in danger!”

“You think I don’t know that? But we can’t just let things stay this way. We can’t let all these children grow up thinking this is right! If we can change something, why shouldn’t we? It kills me to put you all in danger. But what else can we do? Just let this all be?”

“Yes!”

“Dianna, you know better than me what it’s like! And it can’t stay that way!”

“Maybe you’re right. What if we get caught?”

“Then we die.”

“And you’re willing to do that for some crazy dream?”

“I’ll risk it. But I won’t make you. If you don’t want to, I won’t make you. But I can’t do this on my own. You know that.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much…” He threw his arms around me and kissed me all over my face like he hadn’t seen me in fourteen years.

“I didn’t even say I would.”

“Thinking about it is better than I hoped for.”

“Goodnight, then.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

I’m going to say yes, I think. I want the world to change. I want to change the world, to make it a safe place for everyone. I just…I don’t know what to think about this. It’s what I’ve always wanted. But I’m afraid. I’m so afraid to lose them, when they’re all I ever had. I don’t know how I can live myself if I don’t. I won’t live long if I do.

I’ll say yes. I’ll change the world with my best friends. I’ll going to hell in a handbasket and I don’t care.

 

23 March 1621

I told him yes today. I’m terrified and the idea of talking in front of a crowd makes my stomach churn and I’m afraid of the guards and of losing my family but there’s so many things wrong with the world and I can’t just let it all go. 

“I’ll go with you, love.”

“To talk to people? Change things?”

I nodded. “My life in your hands.”

“No, no, I never meant…”

“Sigmun, you’ve always held my life in your hands. You all hold my life in your hands. Nothing has changed. It’s just a bit more literal.” I gave them my heart a very long time ago. 

“Love, I couldn’t live with myself if I let you get hurt.”

“Neither could I. That’s why we’re going together.” 

He kissed the tip of my nose, soft and affectionate. “With the four of us, what could go wrong?” 

I didn’t say anything, and I didn’t say everything. 

 

26 March 1621

Simonn must’ve had one of his nightmares last night because I had one and when I went downstairs to get some tea and he was there. 

“Hello.”

“Morning,” Simonn said. “You told Sigmun you’re going with him.” 

“I did.”

“Why?”

“If we can change things and make the world better for every child born after us--for our children--why shouldn’t we?” 

“I don’t want to risk your lives. I’m the only one of us with children. It would be selfish to put all of you at risk for my daughter.” 

“I think we’ve established that Sigmun and I want children.” 

“I know. But right now I’m the only one with a direct investment in this and I don’t want to be selfish by risking you when you still have things you want to do with your life.”

“And you don’t?”

He snorted. “Sure, I want to do things. But I can’t do any of them. I can’t go to university, or marry Hannah, or take care of my daughter. You have things to do with your life.”

“I’m leaving of my own volition, whether you come or not.”

He sighed and looked at his tea, his shoulders slumped. “Don’t tell him.”

“I won’t.”

“But I don’t think we can win.” 

“What do you mean?”

“There’s a reason they hold power. There’s a reason we’ve never had a truly successfully revolution. I don’t think we can win.”

“That’s pessimistic!”

“It’s realistic. You’re awfully optimistic.”

“Well, you can go be realistic all you want, but there’s a reason realists never change the world. You should leave that to the optimists.” 

“Hey, I didn’t say I wouldn’t come!”

“On a futile mission?”

“I don’t think we can win. I never said I thought it was futile!” 

“How does guaranteed loss not equal futility?” 

“We’ll lose. But we might pave the way for the next bunch of dreamers--the next one like him. Whoever they are, they’ll have their own more realistic friends, and they’ll have their own plan. But maybe they’ll have seen ours talking--you’ve seen him speak when he cares--or they’ll have heard of him, and they’ll have a road to take. Maybe to victory, whatever that means.”

I nodded thoughtfully. “I still think it’s worth a shot. If you think we’ll fail we can’t just give half our effort. My whole heart’s in this if yours are.” 

“I’ll give all my effort. And don’t tell him.”

“No, of course not,” I said without thinking. I’ve never kept anything from my love before, and as I said it I realized I’d crossed some line in my head and I couldn’t go back. “Simonn…heavens. I’m scared.” 

He nodded. “Me too.” 

We sat in silence for a while, and then our tea was cold and before we went up to bed he hugged me tight. I had to stand on my toes like I do when I hug him but there was something comforting about his bony arms and scratchy chin, different from Sigmun but still safe in its warmth. 

“I love you,” Simonn said. 

“I love you too,” I promised, and I meant it. 

 

28 March 1621

We picked out names today. Or, they did at least. I mean, we can’t go by our real names. We’d get our village burned to the ground. So we decided to just pick some code names, as it seems everyone’s on board. 

Dolora was first. She sat in silence for a little bit while we were eating dinner and then she said, “I suppose Dolorosa.”

“That’s so close to your real name!” Sigmun said.

“Which is exactly why no one would guess it,” Dolora said. “My name is not a common one. I was named after my grandmother, and she was from Spain, so us English-speakers don’t use it often. I think it’s a safe choice.” She paused and took another spoonful of soup. “Anyways, it means ‘mother’.” I have a hunch it means more, but I’ve been slacking on my Latin lately.

“Signless,” Sigmun said thoughtfully, poking his bowl with the spoon. “Because I can’t carry my family’s crest. So I’m signless.” 

“Makes sense,” Simonn said. “I was thinking Psionic. Which double i’s.”

“Like your double n’s?” I asked.

“Yours too.”

“Anyways, why?”

“Well, it’s to do with having a powerful mind. And I don’t exactly have a powerful body; my mind’s all I’ve got.” He tapped his head. “Anyways, I have a feeling those future-dreams count as sort-of psychic. What’re you gonna be, Deedee?”

I made a face at him because we are much too old for nicknames but I didn’t know.

“I don’t know.”

“Well, pick something,” Simonn said.

“Just give me some time, I’ll come up with something.”

“Alright, if you say so,” Sigmun said. “We should talk to Hannah and Neolla and Mariek and Sumner and all them. Just in case.”

“We’ll have them over for tea tomorrow,” Dolora said. “We can all talk and plan more then. Find them tomorrow in the village, alright, my dears?”

“Alright, Mama,” Sigmun said, and Simonn and I nodded. It’s really starting now. 

There’s no going back now.


	48. In Which Everybody Goes Tent Camping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our revolution begins as our heroes walk to a new town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I know you're probably not reading this for theology but I am a huge theology nerd so there's gonna be a little. Also because basically everybody was religious back then, so everybody would at least sorta know this whole Christianity thing. 
> 
> I'm also using the NRSV because the King James Version is like incomprehensible and the NRSV is my favorite.

3 April 1621

Today we talked to Mariek and Neolla (Simonn’s talking to Hannah on his own). Mariek was all-in in a second, and Neolla not long after. They’re going to choose names, too. Hannah will as well, but she’s probably not going to come with us--she wants to stay close to her daughter. I can understand that. She’ll stay here and sort of be a home base. I can tell Simonn will miss her. Of course he will; I’d miss Sigmun if I had to be apart from him. 

 

6 April 1621

I found out their names. Mariek is Marquise, Neolla is Neophyte, and Hannah is Handmaid. I think I understand each of them, too. Mariek could easily have a rank, Neolla’s still fairly new at being a lawyer, and Hannah tends to help rather than directly lead. Although Neolla and Mariek both still have some business to finish here, so they won’t leave with us. 

Now if only I had a name. I’ve been Dianna my whole life; I’m somewhat attached to it. I even like my last name these days, which I never used to do. (Vantas is not tied to my mother, like Sailor, or to my childhood, like Leijon.) I have no idea what characteristic could define me outside my name, which in this village is all anyone needs to know to know who I am. (Or, at least, who they think I am.) 

I’ll come up with something. Everyone else has. 

 

8 April 1621

I bought a new empty book today. I know if he wants to talk I’ll be writing, because not everyone in the world speaks English and I think writing things is the best way to remember them. It would be amazing to translate them and send them out to other countries who have the same problems we do--unfair governments levying unfair taxes on people for the sake of their own comfort, people not treating each other as people, violence. 

I still can’t think of a name. What am I--or, rather, what will I be in a revolution? A follower, I suppose, but then we’re all followers. A writer, I suppose. Scribe? No, that’s terrible. What am I? 

 

10 April 1621

We started packing our bags today. I felt this terrible clenching in my stomach because I don’t want to leave sometimes, and I know leaving is all but dooming people I love. I’m leaving my home and I’m so scared. 

I won’t pack my wedding dress. I’ll pack a nice dress but I’ll leave my wedding dress at home. I don’t think anybody will steal it and I don’t think it’s valuable to anybody but me. I’ll fold it away for when we come back. 

I feel like leaving my wedding dress behind means something, but I don’t know what. 

 

12 April 1621

We were packing today when Sigmun noticed my wedding dress folded away. 

“You’re not bringing it?”

“No.”

“Why not?” 

“I don’t want to ruin it.” 

“We’re not going to be digging ditches.”

“I know. But I don’t want it to get torn walking or something of the sort. It’s my favorite dress.”

“What’s the point of having something nice you’ll never wear?”

“I’ll wear it once we’re back. Once we win.” 

He looked at me, sort of oddly, but with a sort of affection. “You look beautiful in that dress.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you remember our wedding day?” 

“Of course I do.”

“It rained in the evening, you remember?” 

I nodded. “Mariek told me that was good luck. She said it meant fertility.”

Sigmun looked down. “Do you believe in luck?”

“Luck favors the prepared.” 

He nodded, thoughtful. “We’ll adopt children, once we win.”

“Of course,” I said. “Beautiful, wonderful children.” 

He sighed and I leaned back so my head was resting on the very top of his chest, and he stood on tiptoe to tuck my head under his chin. He wrapped his arms around my waist and I stood there for a while, feeling close to him. Sometimes I’m afraid Simonn is right, but sometimes I have all the hope in the world that Sigmun is. 

 

14 April 1621

I quit my job today. It didn’t go badly at all. 

“Agnes. I need to speak with you.”

She looked up from her sewing and said, “What?” She’s not rude but she’s a woman of few words. 

“I’m quitting.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m leaving with my family to go traveling. So I’m quitting. We leave the sixteenth.” 

“Well, goodbye.”

“I’ll see you again someday, I’m sure.”

She smiled a little. “I hope so.”

“Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” 

I’ll see my coworkers again someday, I’m sure. In better circumstances, I’d hope. 

 

15 April 1621

I talked with Dolora today over tea. I think she’s more scared than she’d care to admit. Dolora’s never really admitted she’s scared before, but I think she is. 

“Why are you going?” I asked her after we had tea. 

“To make this a world where my sons and my daughter can be whatever they want to be.”

“What daughter?”

“You, Dianna dear,” she said, with the oddest tone of voice. 

I looked down at my glass of tea. I forget sometimes she counts me as her daughter. 

“I would very much to provide the opportunities for you, and for Sigmun and Simonn, that some of the richest bluebloods have.” 

“Like Patrik.”

She nodded. “What are you going to tell him?”

“I have no idea,” I admitted. “He’s going to ask. And he definitely won’t agree with us. I suppose I’ll give it a shot?” I shrugged and took a sip of tea. 

“I wish you the best.”

“Thanks,” I said. “You are coming with us?”

“Of course,” she said. “I’ll do what I can to spread medical knowledge I have to the rest of the country--especially other midwives.” She sighed. “Some of us may love men, but men can’t understand.” She stirred her tea. “Much the same way you couldn’t understand what it’s like to have darker skin.” Dolora’s family is from the New World, she said. She doesn’t talk about when her family crossed the ocean (can you imagine?) but I know it was her grandparents who crossed. So she has darker skin. “And I couldn’t imagine what it’s like to be Rose.” Once when Rose visited she told us her mother has dark skin and her father light, but they got married anyways. 

“Sometimes I wish we could make them understand,” I said, because I do. I love Sigmun and Simonn and they face their own challenges but they don’t really understand what it means that I can’t have children, or how terrible it feels when men stare at you like they’d eat you up if given the chance. 

Dolora nodded and we talked a bit more about lighter things, and I really felt how us women have to support each other, because heaven knows no one else will. 

 

16 April 1621

We left today. We packed up the tents and the cookware and all our things, and I took a new book I bought for writing what he talks to people about in as well as my pen and ink. I took all my hair ribbons, too, the green one around my wrist so I could tie up my hair when I needed to. Most of them were presents at some point or another but I felt alright about bringing them because what is a hair ribbon for but tying back your hair? 

I didn’t really know what to tell Patrik so I left him a letter. He’ll find it. I left him a rough copy of the map and when we’ll be where, so if he wants to perhaps he could write. I hope he does. 

We have the map Sigmun planned this all out on, so we know where we’re going. I think I’m just scared of what will happen there. 

 

18 April 1621

We arrived at the first town today. We’re travelers, so we were noticed right away and I felt terribly self-conscious. I noticed the children huddled alone on corners or in alleys the way I notice them at home and it pulled terribly at my heartstrings. I hope we can help them. 

Sigmun knocked on the door of the church and once the priest opened it said, “Hello. We’re travelers from a nearby village and we were wondering if we could spend the night in your church.”

“I’m very sorry, my friends, but we don’t even have pews. You might be better off camping in the woods if you have tents, so you could make a fire.” You can tell a lot about a preacher by what he calls the laypeople, and “friends” definitely endeared me to this fellow. 

“Thank you for your kindness,” Sigmun said. “I was hoping to address your town on Sunday, after services. Would that be alright?”

He nodded. 

Dolora took some money out of her pouch and handed it to the priest. “Help your people,” she said. “They need you.” 

He looked at her oddly, but nodded, and we left to pitch tents. We have only two tents but we could all fit in one, and of course Sigmun and I can share a tent and a bedroll. 

Sigmun went into the village for food while I hunted and came back with five people I’d never met before. “Love, this is Mary,” (a little girl with big brown eyes) “Willian,” (a boy with a mop of blond hair) “Magdelena,” (a girl with dark skin but some sort of sunburn on her cheek) “Daniel,” (a tall fellow with tired eyes) “And Helen,” (a woman with bright blue eyes). “Everyone, this is my wife.” 

“What do we call you?” Helen asked. 

“Um…call me Dee,” I said. It was the only thing I could think of. 

Dolora started dinner and we all gathered around the fire, the little ones looking afraid. I sat next to the littlest one, Mary, and said, “Hello there, little one.” 

She squeaked. 

“Don’t worry, little one. I don’t bite. Can you tell me how old you are?”

“Seven,” she said. 

“Where are your parents?”

“They died.” 

“I’m so sorry, little one.”

She nodded, a couple tears dripping down her cheeks. “Mr. and Mrs. Cooper say I can stay with them long as I do all the chores and cooking and sewing. But Mr. Cooper’s scary.” 

My heart clenched and I wanted to raise her far away from anybody who would ever hurt her. “Trust your gut, little one. Don’t go with them.”

“How do you know?”

“I’m a mother. We know everything.” It’s something Dolora used to say with the same teasing tone when I was little. 

“Really?”

I nodded. “What’s your favorite game to play?”

She talked to me some and then when it was sunset we offered the children the tent to sleep in. They accepted and went to bed, Dolora supervising. I stayed up with Helen and Daniel and Simonn and Sigmun, while Dolora went to our tent to do the mending. (Or, I suspect, to sleep.)

“Where are you lot from?” Daniel asked. 

“About a day’s walk from the city,” I said. 

He examined us critically. “And what are you doing here?”

I looked at Sigmun and he said, “We’re here to help. We don’t think it’s right that our government makes laws we have to follow without our input, especially since they don’t follow the laws themselves.”

“How does that help us?” Daniel asked. 

“If we can change the government we can distribute aid to people who need it,” Sigmun said. “We can make laws about being paid fairly, and we can set up a system so those who need money will be helped. And we includes you.” He had that look on his face, his eyes shining and his voice genuine. “In the more immediate, my mother is a doctor, and my wife hunts, and our best friend is a farmhand, so we can help with whatever you need.” 

For a moment I thought perhaps I could be something like Hunter, but that’s not really who I am, I don’t think. I hunt so my family can eat. I’d never choose Seamstress either even though that was my job, because it’s just something I did instead of something I am. 

At any rate, we chatted with them until it was late and we were all tired. I like Helen and Daniel. I hope we can help them. 

 

21 April 1621

I talked with Helen more today, and we got around to the topic of family. 

“My mother, she was a wonderful woman. But she caught winter fever and passed right after I married.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. 

She shrugged. “It’s been years.”

“It doesn’t always stop hurting, though. I still miss my child.”

“You child?”

“His name was Luke. He died when he was fourteen months old.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m used to missing him.” 

There was a brief silence between us before she said, “I have to ask. Psiioniic, what’s his relation to you?”

“One of my two dearest friends.”

“No blood relation?”

“No, he’s just very dear to us.” 

“I wouldn’t tell anybody.”

“Tell anybody what?” 

“If there’s…more between you and him.”

“There isn’t. He’s engaged, and I’m married.” 

She looked at me skeptically. 

“He means the world to me. But I’m not having an affair. My husband’s a wonderful man.” I’m sure I had that soft look on my face--Simonn’s pointed it out to me. He gets the same look when he talks about Hannah, and of course Damara. 

“Alright,” she said. 

“What about you?” I asked. 

“There’s no one,” she said. “It’s not important.” I could tell she didn’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t press. 

“What about friends?”

“There’s a few. Elizabeth, our seamstress. Beatrix, the cooper’s wife. And Maude--a spinster like me.” 

“They sound like wonderful people.”

“Indeed,” she said, and we talked about her village until it was late. 

 

25 April 1621

Today after services he invited everyone to dine with us in the woods at sundown so I’ve been hunting all day to get enough food. I know why; it’s because when you feed people they tend to listen to you. Dolora made stew and Simonn helped while I took a nap, exhausted from hunting. Sigmun was out chatting with whoever showed up, but he came in to check on me when I first got back, and he kissed me and said, “I’ll wake you for dinner, love.” 

He did wake me for dinner and I ate sitting next to Helen. It was like in the village, the children running around and playing while the adults sat together and ate. People luckily brought their own bowls--we didn’t have enough for everybody--but we had extras. 

After the meal, my love got everyone’s attention just by speaking up loud enough and then standing so everyone could see him. Dolora quieted the children and led them away a little to play. Simonn was sitting right near Sigmun and I’m sure no one else could tell but he had his own knife behind his back. I use my breadknife when I’m nervous but Simonn has a knife, too. Sigmun doesn’t. 

Anyways, he started by talking about all the unfair things that happen because the government doesn’t listen to us. Mostly about how poor people are and how no one thinks to help out those who are struggling. He talked about that Bible quote--“Learn to do good; seek justice, rescue the oppressed, defend the orphan, plead for the widow”. I think it’s from Isaiah. And people listened! I think it’s mostly because he was talking about things we good do that would help them, but they were happy to listen. 

I think he’ll introduce the idea of equality for women and illegitimates and those with dark skin and all that a bit later. He invited everyone again on the twenty-ninth. I think in the meantime we’ll talk with individuals and slowly introduce the idea. 

I’m exhausted from writing right now. Simonn’s washing his face and Sigmun’s shaving (most unfortunately), and Dolora’s mending. Everyone staying with us is asleep. It’s quiet, and peaceful, and I think tonight I will sleep well in my husband’s arms. 

 

26 April 1621

I was translating earlier, English to French, and Helen sat next to me and said, “What are you doing?”

“Je traduis ses mots. Français.” 

“Excuse me?”

“Sorry.” I shook my head. “I’m translating his words into French.” 

“You work hard for him.”

“It’s for our cause.” 

She looked at me inquisitively. 

“When we started, it was his idea but we all chose to come.” 

“Oh.” 

There was a pause, and she fiddled with something she was holding. 

“You and him are married.”

“Indeed.”

“How long?”

“Five years this June.” 

“So where are you children?”

I rolled my pen between my fingers, a habit I’ve found comes out when I’m nervous or tense. “I can’t have them. I had a miscarriage, then my baby Luke, and then two more miscarriages.” 

“Oh.” She looked down, then back up. “He must be a remarkable man.”

“I certainly think so.”

“He’s staying with you.”

“And I’m grateful for every minute he does.” I saw the way she looked at the fire and said, “Yours didn’t?”

“No. He left me with nothing. Took every penny in our home and left me for a younger, prettier woman. They have three children.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. 

“It’s alright,” she said. “Not having children, it’s hard.”

I nodded. 

“How’d you get him to stay with you?”

“Before we were married, I told him I was worried about it. And he told me that I could have twelve children or no children and he’d still love me. So I guess I didn’t do anything--we just love each other.” I put down my pen and grabbed my elbows with my palms, feeling colder. I am still afraid that he’ll leave me for someone who can have children, even though he’s affectionate and kind and soft as he ever was. “Or so I pray.”

“Love?” Sigmun called from the tent.

“Yes?”

“Are you coming to bed?” He poked his head through the tent flaps. “Don’t stay up to late, dearest. You can do your translating by the light of day.”

“Be there in a few,” I said back, and he went back to the tent. I could picture him lying on our bedroll with that little frown on his face, and I wondered if his arms felt empty the way mine do when I sleep alone. 

“Men don’t understand,” she said. 

“No,” I said. “I don’t think they ever will.”

And so I went back to our tent and wrote here and I’m about to curl up with my love and sleep, even though he’s asleep already. 

I love him. I wish he could understand. 

 

27 April 1621

Last night Sigmun and Simonn and I sat around the fire together. 

“Put own your pen, love,” Sigmun said gently. “It’s alright, the work will get done. Take a rest.”

I reluctantly put down my pen and paper and said, “Alright, fine.”

“You’ll run yourself to the ground if you don’t take a break,” Sigmun said. 

“I know, love,” I said. “I’m fine. Really.” Since he hadn’t shaved in a couple days he had that cute scruffy beard, and I noticed how handsome he looked. 

“If you say so,” he said. 

There was a pause. 

“I think it’s going quite well,” Sigmun said. “They’re definitely on our side. I don’t know if they’re ready to march to the city, but they’re with us. And I think we’ve helped them.”

“Can we talk about something else?” Simonn asked. “I mean, I’m for our cause, but…” He paused and looked down. “I miss just spending time with you.” 

I nodded. “Do you remember, when we were children, and we spent all day reading?”

Simonn smiled and said, “Remember daring each other to spend the night in the woods?”

“That rabbit we thought was a coyote?”

“The time the Jacobson’s cat scared us?” 

“Or the ghost wind!”

We all laughed and I can’t remember feeling so warm since I was a child. I do miss spending time with my best friends. I love them so much. 

“I brought a book,” Sigmun said. “The one about the New World. It’s really interesting--do you want to read it?”

“Of course,” I said. 

We talked about lighter things for a while until I picked up my pen again. Simonn said, “Why do you work so late, Deedee? You’ll drive yourself mad.”

“I have to finish,” I said. “It’s my job.”

“It’s not your job to drive yourself mad,” Sigmun said. “We’re trying to start a revolution--make a change. You don’t need to write constantly.”

“I need to do something useful,” I said. 

Simonn gave me a funny look, like he used to when I’d dither about Sigmun while he was in love with Hannah--before he told her. “Why?”

“I’m part of this. I shouldn’t take up space without contributing.”

Simonn shifted uncomfortably. 

“Both of you, what’s wrong?” Sigmun asked. “We’re here to make things better for people. Just talking to people, we’re making a difference. You don’t need to earn the right to be here.” His face was soft and worried, maybe a little hurt. 

I wanted to say so many things, about how I feel useless and not good enough and I need to feel useful and how I can’t stand to know how many people are suffering and how I love them but I’m so afraid they don’t love me because I don’t deserve it and so I feel the need to work and how I’m much too scared to just ask them to tell me they love me and how I just want to be important but I know I’m not. 

Simonn said, “We’re not important like you.”

“No,” Sigmun said. “You are the world to me. You’re feeding people, and talking with them, and helping children--you’re as important as I am. More so.” He put one arm around each of us and held us both close. “I worry a lot that I’m not enough for you.”

“You’re wonderful,” I said. “And you will always be enough. More than.”

“Yeah,” Simonn said. “You’re the best, and we love you.” 

“I love you too,” Sigmun said. 

“I love you too,” I said, and I went to bed feeling light and warm. 

 

29 April 1621

My love spoke again today, this time slipping in bits about treating people who aren’t men with light skin and married parents the same. I could tell people weren’t as happy this time, but some of the women were looking at him like they were just realizing something for the first time in their lives, and I couldn’t have been happier. Some of the men--I imagine they were illegitimate--had the same look, and of course those with dark skin. Some didn’t look so happy, even those who we wanted to help, but plenty of people looked thrilled. 

One fellow shouted out some questions to my love, and he answered them quite well. 

“Sir, if I may ask a question?”

“Of course.”

“Women are to be punished for the original sin. Why should they be treated equal? Does not Genesis tell us that ‘your desire shall be for your husband, and he shall rule over you’?”

“Are we not forgiven for all sins through Jesus, if that is indeed your faith? And remember: ‘There is no longer Jew or Greek, there is no longer slave or free, there is no longer male and female; for all of you are one in Christ Jesus’.” Galatians, that one is. 

“Then why do women still suffer in childbirth?”

“Midwives ease the pain,” he said, nodding at Dolora. “Forgiveness means the pain is eased, if not removed completely. I’d say us men should be treating the women around us kindly for what they go through to bring us into the world.” He looked at me and smiled a little. Some of the women looked appreciative, and I understand why. We go through quite a lot. “Sir, I’d love to speak with you later, and perhaps you’d like to match wits with my wife and my mother.” He must’ve seen me glare at the man when he first asked his question. 

“Indeed,” the man said, and my love continued talking. 

After he finished speaking, the man made his way to my love and so did I. 

“Interesting to meet you, sir,” I said. 

“Likewise,” he said. I could tell he was going to start spouting Bible quotes so I jumped in. 

“Do you read in Latin or English?”

He looked taken aback. “English, I suppose.” 

I nodded. The translations are actually a little different. 

“You’re a good bit different from other women.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re much more intelligent.”

“Not at all. I may be more educated, thanks to my mother-in-law, but no more intelligent.” 

“Most women I know can’t read.”

“Can most men?” 

“I suppose not…” 

“I imagine it’s because I speak my mind. But that’s just a product of my upbringing. I’m just like every other woman here.” 

Dolora appeared right next to me, practically silent like she is. “Hello, my dears. And you, sir.” 

“Hello, Dolorosa,” I said. She touched my shoulder and then my love’s, and then addressed the man. 

“I understand you don’t think women and men to be equals?” 

“There are some women who might be equals.” 

“We’re not special,” I said. I don’t think I’m anything special, but it’s more than that--the only thing about me that’s different from any other woman I’ve met is that I got an education. “My mother-in-law and I.” 

“You certainly are!”

“Why?” Dolora asked. 

“You read and write. You’re much more intelligent.”

The debate continued in this vein for quite some time but I ran out of patience and left to speak with some of the other women, because I’ve found they’re the most worried. 

There was one woman called Maude--I think the same Maude Helen mentioned--who I really liked. 

“Hello, I’m Maude.”

“Hello. I’m--” I was about to say Dianna but I stopped myself. “I kind of have to keep my real name secret.” 

“Why on Earth?”

“To keep our home village safe,” I explained. “We have our other names. But I can’t think of one. Just call me Dee.”

“Alright, Dee. I wanted to ask you about…what he was talking about.” 

“Go ahead.” 

“Do you really believe we’re equal? All of us?”

“I do. Ever since I was little they’ve been my equals.” I gestured to my husband and Simonn. 

“But they hold all the power, in politics and in the church.”

“Only because they’ve convinced us we can’t. There’s no reason a woman couldn’t be a priest, or a ruler. Our heir to the throne is a woman.”

“Really?”

“Yes. In a very roundabout way, she’s an odd sort of acquaintance of mine.” 

“Really.”

I nodded. “Every man you meet is as equal as every woman.”

She had the oddest look on her face. “They tell us it’s because Jesus was a man.”

“A man who respected women.” 

“Oh?”

“Mary Magdalene? And Martha and Mary? Mary his mother?”

“An awful lot of Marys.”

I smiled. “Indeed. Jesus may have been a man, but there are many women in the Bible who were very important. I’m quite fond of Esther and Ruth, and Deborah. Men tend to gloss over those parts.”

“They do.” 

“It’s hard to learn to value yourself, I know. But it’s worth it.” 

“What about my husband?”

“Is he here?”

“Yes. He was talking to Signless.” 

I smiled a little, because I can’t help it when someone calls him that, and said, “Well, he could convince anyone of anything. Just keep reminding your husband you’re his equal--he’ll get it.” 

“Wait--is he yours? Signless?”

I nodded. 

“You’re very lucky,” she said. 

“I certainly think so. What about yours?”

“He’s alright. Not terrible. But he has all these ideas about wifely duty.” 

I was troubled for a second before she continued, because more men are violent than I’d like to believe. 

“It’s always, ‘Get a hot dinner on the table, do all the mending, do all the laundry, watch the children…’ You know the type.”

“I do.” 

“I don’t mind doing the chores--well, I do, but no more than any fellow minds work--but it would be nice to get some appreciation. Some help with the children. I respect his work. It’d be nice to get some respect in return.”

I nodded. “You can teach him. And you can teach your children.” 

“Do you mind if I ask--is he really illegitimate?”

“Yes. Dolorosa took him in when his birth mother abandoned him.” 

“He’s clever for it.”

“He’s clever for anybody. Being illegitimate has nothing to do with it.” 

She shrugged. 

We talked a little about her home and about her village, and I talked with some other women about how to teach the men in their lives respect. And how to treat people with dark skin and illegitimates equally. People are always so surprised I married an illegitimate man of my own volition. 

It was a good day, but we leave tomorrow. We’ll be in the next town my May second, the next Sunday. 

I think I’ll miss this town. It’s nice here, and I like the people. I’ll miss here. 

 

30 April 1621

I sat with the children from the village again today before we left. I find it more comfortable to talk to children sometimes; they’re not nearly as judgemental or cruel as adults, and all you have to do is listen to their wild stories. Anyways, a fool could tell they hadn’t really had anyone to talk to in a while. 

The three of them--Mary, William, and Magdelena--are orphans, but some of the children who arrived later have parents who are either cruel or neglectful. I worry about them. I know we can’t adopt every child in the world, but looking at all those who don’t have safe families to go home to, I want to. 

Either way, all of the children talked more, and seemed a bit happier. Mary talked about how well she can sew, and maybe she’ll do that for a job, and William about climbing trees, and then a girl Theresa talked about how much she likes to climb trees, and so on. The children mostly knew each other--it’s a town small as ours--but I think being somewhere safer, where they’re well-fed, helped. I know children need adults to be proud of them, and to listen to them, so I did my best. Sigmun did, too, and Simonn stayed for a few minutes. But he left, and I think it’s because he misses his daughter. 

I want to believe someday we’ll go home and be a family again, and I want to believe that we’ll adopt children and just live out our lives once this is over. I’m just not sure sometimes that it’s possible anymore.


	49. Journey Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey continues around the country as the bigger picture becomes clearer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! Between finals, catching up on sleep, and a few other projects, I have not been writing this very much. 
> 
> On a related note, if anyone's interested I can share some random headcanons from a classic "everything is okay and everyone lives in a modern world" version of this story.

2 May 1621

We arrived at the next town today. After services everyone came for dinner and that meant I had the joy of hunting all day and then collapsing in the tent for a nap. Sigmun, like last time, came into the tent and said, “Love, you alright?”

“I’m alright.” 

“Get some sleep. I’ll wake you for supper.”

“Thanks, love.”

“Any time. I love you.”

“Love you too.” 

And he did wake me for dinner, because of all people my love is courteous. I sat with some of the other women, the same routine as last time. He spoke, I wrote, and he invited everyone back on the sixth. 

People stayed back this time to talk to us, and it’s still stunning to me that people walk up to me and want to talk to me. I don’t have very much to offer. I’m just the writer. It’s mostly women, and I get the same questions every time. First are the ones about do I really believe all this, can we change things, that sort. Then some people ask about my family, how we know each other and all that. And then some of those people ask about children, and is he really illegitimate, and then it’s usually either sympathy or judgement about how I can’t have children. 

Mostly it’s just questions about initially what trying to overthrow the government will do for people. I can handle those. 

 

4 May 1621

I spoke with a woman from the new village today named Meriall. She’s kind, and she’d lost most of her family after there was a fire in her kitchen. All she had was her youngest daughter, just a year old. I hate that I felt a moment of jealousy that she still had her daughter, because I still have my husband and my real mother and my best friend, but I didn’t say anything. 

“I’m so sorry,” I said. 

She looked down, and she had that hunch to her back like the saddest people always get, like she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. “I don’t imagine I’ll ever stop feeling sad.” 

“No,” I said. “I don’t think it tends to go away.”

“And you’d know?” She sounded skeptical. 

“I lost my only child. He was fourteen months.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Me too. It was two and a half years ago, almost to the day.” 

“I gather it doesn’t get easier.” 

I shook my head. “I wish it did.” 

“I don’t know how I made it out alive. I don’t know how I lived.”

“What matters is that you did.” 

She was holding her daughter close to her, like she was afraid. “I wish it was so easy.” 

“What’s your daughter’s name?” 

“Lucy.”

“Can I hold her?” I know it’s ridiculous but I always have this urge to protect and love every child I find. Obviously this one had someone to love her, but I still wanted to hold her. 

“Go ahead. Be careful with the neck.” 

“I know.” 

Her little one was asleep so she didn’t fuss when I held her. “She’s precious.”

“She is.” 

There was a silence, and then I said, “Do you want to talk about your family?”

She nodded. “I had two sons. They were seven and three. I had a daughter who would’ve been five, but she was stillborn. They were asleep in the attic…I tried to save them but my husband dragged me out of the house and said he’d save them. So I grabbed my daughter and ran. And…they got the fire out before it spread, the well was just enough…but all the smoke in their bodies…they died. And then they burned. My two boys, they were so strong…always helping out around the farm. John, the older one, he did more than he had to, always at my side asking what else he could do…” She sighed and held out her arms for her daughter. As I passed her over, the little one woke up and set up a good cry. 

“Hush, little one,” Meriall said. “Hush now.” 

It was late and she was staying with us so we said goodnight and she headed to her tent. 

 

5 May 1621

There was a man who I spoke with today, which is somewhat rarer. Men seem to prefer talking to Simonn, or Sigmun if they’re illegitimate. I suppose people prefer talking to people who know how they feel. But this man sat and talked to me. 

“Hello.”

“Hello. I’m Philip. And you?”

“Just call me Dee.” 

“Alright. I must ask, you write?”

“I read, too.” 

“Impressive.” 

“Thank you.” 

“Where did you learn?”

“My mother-in-law. She taught my husband and our best friend and I how to read and write when we were children.” 

“My goodness, you should be going to university!”

I almost laughed. “If only. What about you?”

“My father was teaching me to read and write, but he passed away about a year ago.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, Philip.” 

He nodded. 

“May I ask why you’re talking to me?” 

“I’m curious.”

“Why?”

“I’ve never met a woman before who reads and writes.”

“Well, I had excellent luck growing up.” 

“You must have.” 

I smiled a little. “I did.” 

We talked a little about reading and writing, and about hunting because he hunts for his family apparently, and then he headed home and I stayed to talk with other people. 

 

6 May 1621

Another speech today. Once again, this one was more about equality for all people, and people had varying reactions, many of which I encountered after he was done. Reactions ranged from elation to terror to fury to excitement. I sound very detached writing it that way but I’m just very tired. I ought to get some sleep. 

 

7 May 1621

I talked with a woman named Florence today when it was late. Simonn had even gone to bed but I was feeling on-edge and tense, and I couldn’t sleep. 

“You’re up late,” she said. 

“I can’t sleep,” I said. 

“Neither can I ,” she said. 

“What’s your name?”

“Florence. And you?”

“Call me Dee.” I really need a better name than that. 

“Are you with them?” She nodded towards our tent. 

“Yes. They’re my dearest friends.”

“How long have you been traveling?”

“Only a month or so.” 

She nodded. 

“Why are you staying here?” I asked. 

She shook her head. “I don’t imagine you’d let me stay if I told you.”

“I don’t mind if it’s something private you don’t want to tell, but I’d never judge you, or make you leave.” 

She sighed and looked at her hands. She was very pale, or perhaps that was the moonlight. She was doing that nervous thing I see people do, her fingers refusing to sit still. “I’m a prostitute.”

“Alright.”

She looked up. “Alright?”

“It’s your life,” I said. I’m in no position to judge her. She might’ve fallen on hard times, been tricked, made a mistake, decided this was just her way to make money. It’s not my place. 

“What about you? Why are you here?”

“My family’s always had some fairly radical ideas. I grew up believing I was just as smart as my two dearest friends, who are both men. And…this just grew naturally from our upbringing.” 

“Huh.”

“Indeed.”

She rubbed at her eyes. “I should sleep.” 

“And yet you can’t?”

She nodded. 

“I understand. I have nightmares.”

She shook her head and looked up. She struck me as very lonely. 

I threw another log on the fire. “I can stay up with you if you like. Unless my husband--Signless--wakes up, I won’t be sleeping much either.” 

“If he wakes up?”

“He’ll notice I’m not there and come looking. He does that.” 

“Ah.” Pause, then (of course), “Where are your children?”

“I can’t have them.” It gets easier to say every time, but more detached-sounding. “I had a baby boy named Luke, but he passed when he was fourteen months. Two and a half years ago to the day.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Want to trade?” 

“If only,” I said, trying for a smile. 

Another pause, and then I said, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It?”

“Anything.” 

She sighed again and crossed her arms. “I suppose I just wish I’d never made such a stupid choice.” 

I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t expect she wanted me to respond. 

“I could’ve done laundry. Been a seamstress. Planted a garden. I didn’t want to get married but…maybe this wasn’t the path to go. Maybe…I don’t know.” She hid her face in her hands. 

“There’s always time,” I said. “If you want to find a new job.” 

She laughed sarcastically. “I don’t have another chance at this point. It’s too late for me.” 

“It’s not too late.”

“I wish that was true.” 

“It’s not too hard to be a seamstress. I used to sew buttonholes.” 

“No one would hire me. And if I tried to collect laundry people would think I was lying.” 

“I’m so sorry. I wish we could help you.”

 

She crossed her arms tighter and said, “Thanks.” 

We didn’t say much for a while, and then she said, “Could I possibly come with you?”

“Pardon?”

“The only thing here for me is my family’s graves. Could I come with you all?” 

“I don’t know. We don’t have many supplies, and the heir to the throne knows who we are. It’s dangerous.” 

“I don’t mean forever. Just to the next village. I could find something there.” 

“Oh. I’m sure you could. We’ll be in the next village by the Sunday after next, the sixteenth. They always need someone else to do the laundry or sew the buttonholes.” 

“I hope it’s not buttonholes.” 

I almost laughed. “I’m sure there’ll be something else. The midwife always needs an apprentice.” 

She nodded vaguely. “Midwives are the only reason this stupid world keeps going.” 

“My mother-in-law would love to hear that. She’s our midwife.” I imagine she must’ve trained someone as her apprentice for while we’re away. “Or, she was, I suppose.” 

She nodded and we sat there in silence until I saw the sun peeking over the horizon and I went out hunting for breakfast. 

Speaking of, it’s exhausting feeding so many people. I might teach Simonn how to hunt so I can spend some time on my translations and, frankly, on rest. 

 

9 May 1621

Everyone came again for dinner after services, but this time people brought some of their own food. I know it’s selfish of me to be glad--we all have so little--but I can’t feed a whole village on my own. My love spoke again, and I’m so glad to see that people are somewhat receptive. Certainly there are many--especially legitimate-born men with light skin--who don’t like it so much, and the town priests seem to not always like the competition, but the way he says it…he could convince anyone of anything, I think. 

The other problem is when a man with dark skin doesn’t like that women should be treated the same, too, or a woman with light skin dislikes that people with dark skin should be treated the same, and so on. How could someone want to be treated fairly themselves and not see that others want the exact same thing? I’m as fair-skinned as they come (well, except for Neolla and her Irish ancestors) and while I can’t imagine what it’s like to have darker skin, I know what it’s like to be treated unfairly as a woman and I wouldn’t subject anybody else to that. 

I talked with Meriall again, and Philip. I also introduced Florence to my family. 

“Everyone, this is Florence. She’ll come with us to the next village.”

My family introduced themselves and we talked some, and it seems everyone gets along, so that’s good. I thought I should introduce her before we all went traveling together. 

Today was his last speech. We’ll move on soon, probably the thirteenth, and before then we’ll do everything we can to help out the village. 

 

11 May 1621

Sigmun and I went into the woods last night and now we have to do laundry, because there’s dirt all over my clothes, and his too. I don’t know what I was expecting. He was exhausted, because he doesn’t hunt for a village every Sunday and doesn’t have practice with exertion like I do, so I helped him back to the tent and I slept well too. 

In retrospect, my wedding night wasn’t good at all. In retrospect, it was kind of terrible. Not in a painful way, but it certainly wasn’t any good. I just didn’t have anything to go on. 

Oh well. Experience is the best teacher. 

 

13 May 1621

We left today and Florence came with us. She seemed nervous about traveling, which I can understand, so I walked with her. I could see Sigmun watching, like he wanted to ask more, but I think he knew that she didn’t want to talk, and certainly not about the reasons she was leaving her village. 

We made camp when it got dark and I went hunting while Simonn started the fire and Dolora and Sigmun pitched the tents, like we always do, except Florence had her own tent (because heaven knows I only feel safe surrounded by my family, and I think they’re the same way, so we all sleep in one tent). 

I feel like by doing this we’ve lost what little privacy we had, because now other people will want to travel, and we won’t have time to be alone. I know it’s selfish of me to think that way, but I still want to spend time with my family. I love them more than I can say. And I don’t like our other names as much. I can’t call my love Sigmun, and I can’t call my best friend Simonn, and I can’t call my real mother Dolora, like I have my entire life. Instead I have to call them Signless and Psiioniic and Dolorosa. 

I still don’t have a name. My family’s just calling me “love”, “dear”, or, in Simonn’s case, just addressing me without using my name. 

 

14 May 1621

I feel terrible. I messed up today, when I woke up and went to see if anyone had lit the fire for breakfast yet. I was awake at dawn and Simonn was shaving and Dolora was brushing her hair so I dressed and left the tent (I’ve given up on my hair) and went to have breakfast. 

I sat next to the fire and Sigmun was sitting there stirring the stew, not looking at much of anything. “Morning, love.”

“Morning,” he said. 

“Are you tired?” He’s a morning person. 

“A little. I had a dream.”

“One of the future-dreams?” 

He nodded. 

“Tell me about it?” 

“It was…strange. I didn’t want to tell you about it when I woke up…I thought it might scare you.”

“Why?” 

“I dreamed that…well, it was cold. The ground was all marshy and damp, so I suppose it must’ve rained. We were outside, the three of us, and I knew…I knew we were waiting for the bus. Whatever that means. Suddenly, out of nowhere, it was thunderstorming. I wasn’t under this…sort of a tent made out of glass, we just called it a shelter. Anyways, I wasn’t under it, and the rain was so heavy I couldn’t really find my way back. I thought I heard someone--something, it wasn’t human--screeching, and when I turned something huge hit me all at once and I heard you scream, and…I don’t know what happened after that, I woke up.” 

“My goodness.”

“I know.”

“Well, it’s not so bad. Not compared to some of the other ones.”

“No, not at all. I suppose it seemed frightening enough to make you nervous and I wasn’t frightened enough to wake you.” 

“Frankly, Simonn’s dreams scare me a lot more than yours, love.” 

He almost laughed. “Indeed.” 

I looked up and saw Florence sitting across the fire from us. She looked a little embarrassed, I suppose because it was a sort of private conversation. 

“Good morning,” I said. 

“You too.” Then, after a pause, she said, “Simonn. Is that Psiioniic?”

I was completely ready to lie, because that’s my gut reaction to situations like this, but Sigmun said, “It is. Please don’t tell anybody.” 

“I won’t. I didn’t imagine you were actually named Signless.” 

He nodded. 

“Why do you go by Dee?” she asked me. 

“I haven’t picked a name yet.”

“What’s the significance of Dee, then?”

“It’s the first letter of my name.” 

She nodded. 

“Soup’s on,” Sigmun said, ladeling some out into five bowls. Simonn joined us and I caught his eye, and I knew he’d heard. Dolora joined a moment later, impeccably dressed as ever (I don’t know how she does it, but I have a feeling about why). We ate in silence before breaking camp and leaving for the day. 

I know it’s terribly selfish, but I do miss home. It’s only been a month but I miss my home. 

 

16 May 1621

He spoke today, like usual. Unfortunately afterwards there was a man who talked to me.

“Hello.”

“Hello,” I said. 

“I’m George Smith. You are?”

“Call me Dee. It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. Can I ask you a few questions? About what he talks about?”

“Of course.”

“Can we go somewhere quieter? I can hardly hear you.”

“Sure. It’s always quieter by the firepit.” 

I stayed standing, because I always feel nervous sitting when talking with strange men (Dolora tells me to trust my gut, because we are afraid for a reason, so I do), and said, “So you were saying?” 

“If the government were too be changed, how would any sort of social services be funded?”

“We’d have to have taxes. But since everyone would benefit, we think it would work out.” 

He asked a couple more questions, and then he asked, “Are you married?” 

“Yes. To Signless.”

“How long?”

“Five years this June.” 

“How would you feel about being with another man?”

I didn’t realize it until after I’d done it but I took a step back. “No.”

“He wouldn’t have to know.”

“I said no.”

“Awfully stubborn, aren’t you?” 

“Are you married, Mr. Smith?”

“Yes.”

“Then you made a promise to your wife, as I made a promise to my husband. Besides that I would never imagine being unfaithful to my husband, because I love him, you made a promise to your wife. And I prefer men of their word.” I turned around and walked away, feeling a little let down. I hoped he’d taken a genuine interest in the movement, and maybe he has, but…

Oh well. I suppose I knew this would happen. Indeed, there’s no reason to believe the same hasn’t happened to my family. 

 

18 May 1621

I look back at my younger self, when I was first writing in a journal, and all I feel is embarrassment. I was so judgemental and so confused, and so young. I thought some truly nasty things about the other girls in the village. I imagine I felt so awful about myself I thought being better than someone else would make me feel better, but I know now it didn’t help at all. The only thing that made me feel better about myself was leaving my mother. 

And then of course there’s all that happened between Sigmun and me before we knew we had feelings for each other. I can hardly bear to think about it. It’s humiliating. I don’t even want to rehash it now, it’s too much. 

Either way, I wasn’t feeling good today, so I rested in our tent. Dolora gave me some herbs to mix in the St. John’s Wort (I take it every day, it works very well) and stern orders to rest. I didn’t want to but Dolora worries we’re too stressed from traveling and I don’t want to worry her more. 

 

19 May 1621

Simonn and I sat around the fire last night like we do, when everyone’s asleep and we tell each other things we can’t tell anyone else. I feel awful keeping secrets from Sigmun--he’s my husband and my love--but I just don’t think Simonn or I could tell Sigmun about how Simonn thinks this will turn out. 

“You said my dreams scared you more than his.”

“Yes.” 

“Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I didn’t want to scare you when I told you.”

“Simonn, it’s fine. I can handle being scared.”

“What does he know about my dreams?”

“He doesn’t know about the one you have every April.” 

He nods. “Good.”

“Why?”

“I think that one’s bad for him. I think something bad is going to happen to him. Well, to all of us, but…heavens, that scream…” He shivered and crossed his arms. “It’s coming.”

“What?”

“Whatever happens in that dream, it’s coming soon.”

“How soon?” 

“I don’t know. Sooner than it should. But that’s always been true.” 

“I’m scared,” I admit to him. 

“Me too,” he says. Then, “Don’t tell him.”

“Of course not.” A silence passed, and I asked, “Do you ever feel guilty, keeping secrets from him?”

He shrugged. “I should. He’s our best friend. But I know it would only make him obsess over a way to save us. And it’d get us nowhere. It’s better that he doesn’t know.” 

“We’re all going to die.”

“The only universal symptom of the human condition is death.”

“What a way to say ‘everybody dies’.”

He shrugged. 

“Well, that’s not now. We’re alive now, and we have a job to do.” 

“Is that how you cope with it?”

“Pardon?”

“Is that how you deal with knowing that we’re all going to die too soon, and it will be painful?”

“If I learned one thing from my childhood, it’s that happiness is never useless, and even if you’re surrounded pain there is joy to be found. We’re going to die painfully; I know that, and it scares me. But we’re alive and together now, and to me, that’s what counts.” I paused. “So, yeah. How I cope.” 

“You’re doing better than me. I just lie awake at night and try to breathe.” 

“That’s not too bad. Look, it’s better than self-destructing. Which is what you know he would do.” 

“By which you mean…?”

“He’d run himself into the ground trying to protect us. You and me, we can handle this. Apparently. You know he’d go mad with worry.”

“So would she.” 

I knew he meant Dolora and I nodded. “I feel terrible keeping secrets from them.” 

He shrugged. “I know if they knew…well, he would tear the world to pieces trying to stop it. And she wouldn’t act it but she’d be torn up inside--too much to go on.”

“Why’d you tell me?”

“You asked. And…I can handle it because I have my whole life. I figured…with your mother and everything…you knew how it feels to think you might die.” 

I nodded. “Fair enough.” 

“Don’t tell them. Please. If they can be happy…”

“I won’t. I want them to be happy, too.” 

He nodded and we went to bed. 

I’ll never be able to go back, in my head. I’ll never go back to telling my love everything, and I’ll never stop keeping this secret from him. If we win, the dream will still be there. No matter what happens, it’ll be there. And I can never tell him. 

 

21 May 1621

I asked Sigmun if women have ever approached him like George Smith did me. 

“Yes, why?” 

“Just curious.” 

“I turned her down. I’d never be unfaithful to you.”

“I know that. I trust you. It’s just that this man tried to win me over…I don’t know.” I sighed and looked left--I know it’s a habit I picked up from Dolora. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

There was a pause, and then he said, “Do you want to go into the forest?” 

“I’m tired tonight, love…”

“Alright. Let’s get some rest, then.” He kissed me, soft and sweet like he does, and we went to bed. And I felt safe in his arms when we slept. 

 

23 May 1621

Another speech today. I talked with a woman called Em afterwards, and I really liked her. She was interested to talk to me about this odd notion of fairness and equality we have. I told her I dreamed sometimes about going to university. 

“When I was a child I used to pretend all the time I could go someday.”

“If only.”

“What would you study, if you could?”

“The natural sciences. Chemistry, I think.”

“Do you read and write?”

“A little.”

“I could teach you if you like.”

“Don’t you have other jobs? With them?”

“My job is to write down what he says and translate it. I’d love to show you how to write.” 

She smiled a little more and then said, “Sure.”

So I spent the rest of the night showing her some more letters, and words of course. It felt so warm and comfortable, like when I was a child and the three of us were first learning to read. I did like Em. She’s twenty, so not much younger than me. I hope she takes this all to heart. 

 

26 May 1621

We moved on today, but I started writing letters to the towns we left behind. We’ll keep them updated on plans and progress, and ask for news. In my other book I’m keeping record of all correspondence, even the names of people in any given town. We’ll slowly introduce the idea of marching to the city, gathering people together to demand change. The royal family has their army but they don’t number near as many as the sheer masses of people who want different, better. 

Sigmun doesn’t like the idea but Simonn and I plan to go back to villages we visited to reconnect with people, so we stay connected. I believe with all my heart that the key to making a change is to keep those connections alive. Sigmun worries whenever we’re out of his sight, but I assured him I’d write every day and I could defend myself. He still doesn’t know about my breadknife, or Simonn’s butcher knife. But I won’t go traveling without said knife tucked under my skirts. 

 

28 May 1621

We arrived in the village today, but no speech, not even a dinner. I was grateful and went to bed before the sun set, because I spend a lot of my time translating on our trips and don’t get enough sleep. I could tell Sigmun was worried, and I woke up when he came into the tent around sunset and said, “Love?”

“Hm?”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Don’t push yourself too much, love. Okay?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. You don’t have to prove yourself, to me or to anyone. You know you mean the world to me, and I love you.” 

“I love you, too. Let me sleep,” I said. 

“Alright, love.” 

I heard rustling as he changed and washed his face. I heard the sounds of the fire, and of clicking needles, and gathered that Simonn was probably reading to calm his nerves, and Dolora was knitting. 

I felt Sigmun lie down next to me and rolled over to rest my head on his chest. “I love you,” I said. “I love you so much I could never even hope to tell you--”

“Then don’t,” he said, kissing the top of my head. “Because I love you more.” 

And so we slept. 

 

30 May 1621

He spoke today, to this new village. As usual it went pretty well--everyone likes the idea of no longer being afraid of the monarchy, of getting aid when they need it, of having a say in the laws by which they live. As usual I talked with a few women afterwards whose worlds are not safe, often because of the men in their lives. I wish I could stay longer; I love to be social and make friends (though I imagine I don’t always come off that way). 

I’ll see them again when I come back. 

I’ll definitely be back.


	50. Gillian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story continues as we meet some new people in new towns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the delay, senioritis has really set in and I've been catching up on sleep. As a writer I live on comments so thanks for all the nice ones I've been getting!

1 June 1621

I noticed I’ve been writing a lot more lately. I suppose it’s because I’m so worried, thinking about things. I’m worried about Sigmun and about every village, and about every person we encounter who’s seen so much of this unfairness. This world is unfair. I wish I could just fix everything, but I know I can’t. I know that changing the world takes work, and I know that we can’t just make things better. I just wish we could. 

 

3 June 1621

He spoke again today. I’m so proud to see him speak. It’s not the way I was proud to see my baby boy walk. It’s a totally different sort of pride. I’m proud to see people I love standing up for the good in the world, and I want to show off to the world how amazing my dearest ones are. 

I also talked with a woman afterwards, Gillian. She’d been through some kind of hell. She had two children by her first husband when she was young (married at seventeen), and then he died on the farm. She had to sell the farm to support her children, but then the elder son died of winter fever, and all her money went towards searching for a doctor, and now she’s homeless with her younger daughter. I asked her if she wanted to talk about her time homeless but she just shook her head. She was trembling the whole time I was with her, so I told her she could sleep in the tent tonight. 

I think I’ll offer to help her move, like Florence. Sometimes I think what people need is really a fresh start, with what little money we have and a town of people with whom they have no reputation. 

 

6 June 1621

Another Sunday speech. The interesting thing (interesting, my foot) was later, in our tent. Sigmun looked so despairing, so I asked what was wrong. 

“Nothing.”

“Love, something’s wrong. What happened?” 

“I…I was talking with a man. He was illegitimate, like me. We were talking, and he asked if I was married. I imagined he wanted to believe there was hope. So I told him about you, how much I love you and how much you mean to me, and he…asked me about sleeping together. I told him that was none of his business. And…he told me he didn’t think he’d ever get married, so…he was the one who hurt Gillian.”

“What!?”

“He just told me! He said…‘What’s the harm, it’s not like she’s married.’ So I told him to get out of my sight. I told him it was repulsive. I…I feel terrible. How many people have I comforted who have done equally terrible things?” 

“Not many, I’d wager.”

“But I have.”

“You told him off. You did the right thing. And Gillian’s moving with us anyways. She’ll be alright. We won’t let him near here again.” 

He looked despondent, so I hugged him close and said, “Love, it’s alright. You had no way of knowing. And once you knew you sent him away, let him know that he was wrong. If he pushes it, well…you know we won’t let him close.” He still doesn’t know about my breadknife, but I sleep with it within reach. 

“I know,” he said, sighing with that terrible heaviness. His shoulders slumped and he rested against me. “I wish…who could we tell who would punish him for what he did?”

“The guards?” I suggested, against better judgement. 

“None around.”

“Village authorities?” 

“Worth a try,” he said, looking so very tired. 

“It’s better that you met him. I’d have torn him limb from limb,” I told him, which was probably true. “Who is he?”

“Barnard. Fletcher. Perhaps half a head taller than me, blond hair, brown eyes. He has a cocky walk, you know the type.” 

“I do. Let’s get some rest,” I said. “We’ll deal with this in the morning.” 

And so he slept. I tried to, but I had the most terrible nightmares.

 

7 June 1621

I found Barnard Fletcher today. When he tried to come to camp I asked him to step aside. Once we were out of eyeshot of the camp I took out my knife and held it like a weapon. “My husband told me what you did to Gillian.” 

“What?”

“You raped her. You will not get away with it. You should know we’re going to tell your village authorities, and you are not allowed near this camp again.”

“What was I supposed to do? No one will come near me!”

“With good reason. I used this knife for bread once upon a time. Do you think I’d have any trouble using it on you?” 

He looked scared, so I said, “Go. My friend has a butcher’s knife.” 

He turned and ran like a scared rabbit. I don’t know if that was unfair of me but I don’t care. I can’t stand that men like that exist in the world. I might’ve hurt him if I didn’t know it would be against what we tell people. 

We did tell authorities, and Gillian agreed to move with us, so with any luck he won’t hurt anyone else, and she won’t have to deal with him. They say sometimes we live in a civilized world. How can that be if things like this still happen? 

 

9 June 1621

We left yesterday and Gillian came with us. After we left, about half a day from the town, Gillian started giggling, then out-and-out laughing. 

“Gillian?” Are you okay?” I asked. 

“I’m fine,” she said. “Great, in fact. I…I never have to go back!” 

“Indeed,” I said. 

“I was so sick of seeing him everywhere I went…we’re getting a new start. Little Eliza and me.” 

“Barnard?”

“Yes. Actually…I have to ask. What did you do to him?”

“Why?”

“He found me in the village and…apologized. I…” She blushed and looked down. Her little one was walking up with Sigmun (he’s so good with children and I wish he could’ve been my children’s father), and she glanced that way before she said, “I smacked him across the face. What did you do to him?” 

I felt a little red, too. “I threatened him with my knife. I told him I knew what he’d done and he was not welcome at camp anymore. And I told him I was not afraid to use my knife.”

“You lot aren’t violent.” 

“My husband…well, his childhood inclines him to not be violent. I don’t believe in violence, generally. But I make exceptions. He doesn’t know.” 

She nodded. 

“Is there anything we can do for you once we get to the next village? Money, references, anything?”

“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I used to farm, I’m strong. And I can sew. As long as I have Eliza, we’ll be alright.” 

“I’m glad to hear that,” I said. 

The rest of the walk was quiet. 

 

11 June 1621

We arrived in the next village today. Gillian detached from us and went looking for a job, but left Eliza with us. I’m astounded she trusts us so much. Eliza’s five and such a sweet little girl. She was excited to play with me, because she said her mother told her I was okay to play with. I taught her to climb trees, something I loved doing when I was a child. She was quite good at it. Sigmun’s set up his speech, and the village knows, so everything’s worked out. I just hope things work out for Gillian and Eliza. 

 

13 June 1621

He talked today, to the village, and as usual it was a wonderful speech that I almost slept through because I was so tired after hunting. I know I worry Sigmun, but I also know I need to get the hunting down. Done. I’m so tired I can hardly right. Write, dammit. 

I did talk to people afterwards, but mostly to tell them to come back and talk again tomorrow. 

Sigmun just joined me in the tent, and he’s looking worried, like usual. He never looks over my shoulder when I write in my journal, like I don’t when he writes his letters. He just kissed the top of my head and told me to come to bed, I need rest. And I will. I just wish I didn’t worry him so much. 

 

15 June 1621

I talked with a woman named Adilene. I thought her name was odd, but who am I to talk? My name isn’t common, and neither are Sigmun’s or Dolora’s. Anyways, she was young, nineteen, and she confessed a worry about finding a husband. After some careful questions, it became quite clear to me that she, like Neolla, was just not interested in romance. So I told her I had a friend who was much the same, and it was nothing to be ashamed of, and she could certainly enjoy life without a husband. 

I hope she doesn’t force herself to get married. That never ends well. 

 

16 June 1621

He spoke today, as usual. But people left early, because the novelty was gone, and we all got to bed early. 

Anyways, Sigmun and I were talking late, sitting together by the fire, and we were talking.

“I could kiss you all night,” I said, touching his face gently. I was too tired to do anything else.

“Hush, love. There are people here.”

“I know,” I say. “But it’s none of their business what we say to each other.”

“Doesn’t mean they won’t hear us.”

“Then let’s go for a walk. What a married couple does together is nobody’s business but theirs.”

“Alright, love.”

We walked together into the woods--with a lantern, of course--my right hand in his left and the lantern in my left hand.

“I miss home,” I told him. “I miss everything about home. Privacy, of course, but everything else too.”

“I do, too,” he said. “It’s alright.”

I nodded, feeling tired and stretched thin. I love him beyond words and I want to change things, for Damara and for Simonn’s siblings and for my future children and for everyone else, but I’m so tired and so stressed. I wanted to kiss him and hold him but I didn’t want to ask because he of all people must be tired.

He sat on a log and tugged my hand. “We haven’t spent a lot of time together, have we?”

“Love, I don’t want to tire you out--”

“You don’t tire me out. If I was tired I wouldn’t have come on a walk with you. I mean…yes, I’m tired. But I want to spend time with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am.”

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you, too, darling. And just because we’re doing something dangerous doesn’t mean I don’t care about you. You’re important to me.”

It made me feel all wobbly inside and so I set down the lantern and took both of his hands. “I don’t want you to think I don’t care, either. If you need me I’ll be right here.”

“I know,” he said quietly, and he kissed me softly. It surprised me a little but I missed kissing him so I slipped my arms around his shoulders and kissed him right back. We were alone in the woods, the lantern glowing in the background, and I could’ve kissed him forever. He’s much better at it than when we were young, and I’d like to think I am as well.

When I pulled away, he let out that sweet sound like a whine when he’s just a little frustrated. “Love?” he asked.

“We’re in the middle of the woods.”

“No one’s around.”

“I know. But I like this dress, and I don’t want to get it dirty.”

“Another time?”

I kissed his nose and he smiled, like I hoped he would. “Of course.”

So I kissed him once more and we walked back to our camp, and I fell asleep with his arms around me, his heart beating softly right where I could hear it.

 

17 June 1621

Simonn and I talked last night around the campfire when everyone else was asleep.

“I saw you and Sigmun leave last night.”

“So?” I felt a little defensive because I feel guilty about how I’m here with my love and he’s away from Hannah. “We’re married. What we do together is our business.”

“I’m your best friend--I wouldn’t bother you. But someone else might think differently, and I don’t imagine you want to be disturbed.”

“We were just kissing!”

“Snogging.”

“You don’t need to take out your feelings on me. I know you miss Hannah but there’s no reason to be cruel!”

“I don’t want to be cruel,” Simonn said.

“Well, you are being.”

“I don’t mean to take out my feelings on you. I’m happy for you two. You’re good for each other. But remember when you were home early from the city, and I was embarrassed? Just be careful. I worry about you.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it. I love him, and we’re married.”

“Yeah,” Simonn said. “I know. But you know what other people would say if they found you two.”

“I do.” Words like whore, like bastard; words that make me cringe.

“I’ll try to not take out missing Hannah on you,” Simonn said quietly. “I miss her. Badly. But I really am happy for you, and for him.” He doesn’t even talk about his brothers, but it is more than obvious (to me, anyways) that he misses them desperately. 

“I’ll try not to take out my stress on you,” I said back, meaning it. 

Simonn sighed, tired. “Caring so much takes it out of you, doesn’t it?” 

I nodded, poking the fire with a stick.

“I don’t blame you for wanting to spend time with him,” Simonn said. “It must be comforting.”

I nodded. “I feel better knowing he’s there. It’s why we share a bedroll.”

“I imagine he also likes the feeling of you being there, like I do.”

“Pardon?”

“I fall asleep after all of you. You all breathe at about the same rate.”

“I listen to his heartbeat,” I told him. I tell Simonn so many things and sometimes I worry I’ve told him too much, he’ll be uncomfortable, but he tells me just as many things and I think it doesn’t matter.

“Really. I think we all comfort each other.”

I nodded. “How is Hannah?”

“She’s good. She says she misses me. I’m going to tell her I’m coming, instead of surprising her.”

“You should.”

“I’m a little afraid.”

“I’m going with you.”

“So I can see my siblings and my fiancée.”

“You put up with Sigmun and I, why shouldn’t I put up with you?”

“I’m not putting up with you guys. You’re my best friends. “

“But we’re married.”

“Doesn’t matter. I love you both to pieces. If you’re happy, I’m happy.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am.”

I rested my head on his bony shoulder and we were silent until Adilene left her tent and saw us.

“Pardon me. I don’t want to disturb you.”

“It’s fine,” I said. “What is it?”

“I’m having trouble sleeping,” she said.

“Sit here as long as you like,” I said. “I’m going to bed.” I squeezed Simonn’s hand and curled up next to my love in our tent, listening to his heartbeat. A minute later I heard Simonn join us and so I breathed deep until I was sure he was asleep.

 

18 June 1621

Simonn made fairly definitive plans to go home for a visit and I insisted up going with him. 

“Simonn, you can’t go alone.” 

“I can and I will. If you come you’ll just have to put up with me and my family and Hannah.” 

“I’ll talk with Patrik and Neolla and Mariek. I’ll be fine, and I won’t let you go alone.” 

He rolled his eyes like when we were children and said, “Fine. You know he won’t like it.”

“He worries about us all the time, and if there was any way to stop that, believe me I’d do it.”

“I wish he wouldn’t worry.”

“I do too.” 

We sighed and I saw Simonn’s shoulders slump. He gets so tired. (As if I don’t.) 

“By the way. Happy birthday.”

“Oh. How did you know?”

“I keep my journal. You’re twenty-six. Getting awfully old!” 

“Gee, thanks. You are too.” 

“I know. I just wanted to wish you a happy birthday.” 

“Thanks,” he said. 

After some quiet, we went to bed. Sigmun was asleep, so I cuddled up to him and rested my head on his chest. 

 

20 June 1621

Another speech today. Same as usual. I’m much too tired to write more. 

 

22 June 1621

I talked with another woman today. Her name was Jane, and she was terribly thin, and it wasn’t because she didn’t eat--she’s just like Simonn. My first thought was to feed her as much as I could before we left (we leave tomorrow), but that wasn’t what she wanted to talk about. 

“I’m so sick of my mother,” she said, after pleasantries and all that. 

“Oh?” 

“When I was a child, she had my whole life set out for me, a man to marry, hell, what to name my children! And she’s still trying to control me. I’m twenty-one! I’m an adult! I wish she’d just…stop.” 

“I understand,” I said. 

“You married that illegitimate man.”

“I did. After my mother abandoned me because I didn’t marry when I turned eighteen. I’ve been through a lot with her, but we haven’t spoken since then.”

“Oh. How did you handle it?”

“I found other people who love and support me. My mother-in-law has taken care of me for a long time. How about you tell me about your mother?”

“Well…my father died when I was eight. My mother wasn’t quite the same. She became…obsessive, I’d say, about my sister and my brother and I, and how we had to get married quickly or she’d never have grandchildren to carry on her legacy…to be honest, I think she’s afraid of dying and I guess she imagines she’ll avoid with a ‘legacy’. I just wish she wouldn’t hit me. I’m an adult, she can’t spank me anymore.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“It’s fine. She’s my mother, she is in charge.” 

“You don’t have to let her. You’re an adult.”

“But she’s my mother.”

“That doesn’t give her the right to hurt you.” 

She shrugged. “I’ll find someone someday, I reckon. And then she’ll get off my back.” 

“She might. Or she might start bothering you to have a child.”

“It’s not as if I have much of a choice in the matter.” 

“There’s more choice than you think, but I take your meaning.” 

“Where are your children, then?”

“I can’t have them,” I said, like always. “I had a baby boy named Luke, but he died when he was fourteen months old, two and a half years ago.” 

“I’m so sorry,” she said sincerely. 

“Thank you,” I said, also sincerely. “I don’t think it’ll ever stop hurting, but…I’m alright. My family, we’re handling it. But this isn’t about me.”

“Why not?”

“Well, I…I don’t know.” 

I didn’t quite know what to say, but Jane started some small talk and I let it go. 

 

24 June 1621

We left today, taking no one with us (which was a relief). Not much else, but it’s raining as usual and the tent is leaking and I need to keep my journal wrapped in cloth and I wake up with my clothes wet and I know it’s selfish but right now I want to be back home in my bedroom with my husband, where I was safe and warm and comfortable. I know it’s more important to save the world than for me to be safe at home but, heaven, I miss home. 

 

25 June 1621

Simonn and I sat together by the fire again last night.

“Have you talked much to Sigmun lately?”

“I…I don’t know. I’ve been busy. Translating. Do you know how long it takes to translate speeches that long into five different languages? We went out to the woods a few days ago.”

“I know. He’s just been seeming down lately, and he gets that way when you two don’t spend a lot of time together.”

“Do you mean…?”

“No. I just mean spending time, talking or sitting or whatever. He loves you.”

“Did he talk to you about this?”

Simonn glanced at our tent and said, “Yes. I think he’s insecure about you. Cos he’s an illegitimate child with no money and no way to make money, and by most measures--if we’d been raised any other way, if anything had been different--you wouldn’t have looked at him twice.”

“Well, I did look at him twice, and I love him. I thought he knew that.”

“He does. But I worry sometimes Hannah doesn’t love me anymore because I’m gone, even though she tells me she does, so I imagine it’s the same.”

“I feel terrible now…I don’t want him to think I don’t love him.”

“I think it’d be good for you both to spend some time together.”

“Simonn, you don’t have to do this.”

“I don’t have to, but I am anyways. I want you to be happy. And you two are good for each other.”

“Simonn, you’re the best friend a woman could hope for.”

He rolled his eyes that affectionate way he does. “Thanks.”

“Any time. How are things with Hannah?”

“Alright. I think I’m going to go visit her for a few days soon.” He blushed very red and then said, “I know you have some trick for not getting pregnant.”

I blushed just as red and said, “Who says?”

“Well, you haven’t been since…since then,” he said delicately. “And it’s an easy guess that there’s some sort of trick. I mean…I’ve never really had much of a desire for all that. Hannah either. But it’s nice.” He was absolutely scarlet. 

I felt very red in the face as well but I told him the trick Mariek told me, which seems to be working pretty well.

“How did you find that out?”

“Mariek told me.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah. It works very well.”

He nodded. “Thanks.”

“Any time. But we should go to bed. We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you’ll be seducing your husband.”

“Shut up.”

He grinned and kissed my cheek. “Night, Deedee.”

“Goodnight, Simmie.”

I guess I haven’t spent a lot of time with Sigmun lately. I love him to pieces but we’ve been so busy! I want him to know I love him, of course. And I do love him. I just hope he knows it.

 

26 June 1621

It went quite well last night.

“Love?” I said.

“Hm?”

“Do you want to go for a walk? It’s alright if you’re too tired.”

“I’m not. Let’s go.” He picked up a lantern and as soon as we were away from camp he took my hand. I felt fluttery inside, like I was sixteen again and we’d just kissed for the first time.

We walked until we found a clearing with a convenient log and we sat together.

“What’s wrong, Dianna?” he said.

“Simonn told me. That you worry I don’t love you.”

“I--damn him.”

“We’re all best friends, what did you expect? But I love you. I always will.”

He nodded. “I know, love. I just worry.”

“I know you do. But you can talk to me any time. We’re best friends. That’s what friends are for.” I touched my forehead to his and our noses barely brushed. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said, and he tilted his head so we could kiss. His lips are more chapped these days, and I worry it’s stress. But he still felt wonderful against me and I found his collar with my fingers and undid the first button.

“Love?” he asked, pulling away very gently.

“It’s been a while,” I said. “Unless you don’t want to.”

“I do,” he said. “But last time, your dress…”

“It’s alright. I don’t care as much about this one.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am. Are you?”

“Yes,” he said, and he kissed me again.

When we went to bed he curled around me and I felt very warm and loved, and I actually believed for a second that we were safe.

 

26 June 1621

We arrived at town today and pitched the tents and made camp and all that, and then Simonn and I left for home. Sigmun didn’t like it. 

“Are you sure you’ll be safe?”

“I can defend myself, and I’ll be with Simonn.”

“And you’ll be alright staying home alone.”

“Yes, love. We’re adults now, in case you didn’t notice.”

“Don’t forget Mama’s good tea. And there should be food in the garden, and--”

“Love, calm down. I’ll be alright.”

He sighed, nervous. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll write.”

He touched my cheek and said, “Be careful.”

“I will be.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Simonn and I left around noon and we should be home by the beginning of July. I hope I don’t miss my love’s birthday. 

 

30 June 1621

I came up with a name for myself today. Quite on accident, but I think I like it. 

I wrote a letter to him and I found a messenger after an hour of looking and handed it to him.

“This is for someone called Signless. Do you know him?”

He looked at me oddly, but said, “I do.”

“Bring it to him as fast as you can.”

“And who shall I say it’s from?”

I wasn’t sure what to say, because I couldn’t say me real name, but I needed something he’d recognize so he’d know it was from me. I didn’t say much for a minute, and then I thought of something.

“Say it’s from Disciple.”


	51. Home Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna and Simonn return home, and Dianna discovers the most important lesson she can teach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I appreciate all your support. Thank you so much for reading!

2 July 1621

It’s been a long day of travel. We packed light, deciding a tent was unnecessary, and right now he’s asleep in his bedroll next to the dying embers and I’m awake with my breadknife on my lap. (It’s serrated so it would hurt someone with less effort--I don’t want to accidentally do more than make an attacker bleed.) I don’t feel as safe as I do in the tent with my family around me, and not having a tent’s protection makes me nervous. But I have my breadknife with me, and Simonn’s quick as a fox, so I think we could fight off just about anything.

I’m still sleeping with my head by his feet, though. That way if anybody does attack us there’ll be one of us facing each way.

Just in case.

 

4 July 1621

Well, we’re still alive. Another half day’s walk and we’ll be home. Simonn’s awake this time, cooking stew. I hunted a couple rabbits and then we threw in some herbs (I’ll restock at home) and now I’m writing this and to Sigmun, so he knows we’re safe. He must be worried. I know I am.

 

6 July 1621

I’m writing this at my writing desk. Just a few months ago I was here, but it feels like much longer. Simonn is with Hannah, and I’d bet good money they’ll be back in Simonn’s room tonight. I can’t be jealous of them--shouldn’t be, really--but I do miss Sigmun. We’ve hardly spent time apart since I was a child.

I hope Simonn and Hannah are happy.

 

8 July 1621

I wrote Sigmun another letter today. It’s strange signing with this new signature, but I don’t think I mind too much. 

Simonn’s spending his time with Hannah while I gather herbs and medicines to bring back. I’ve hardly spoken to him. I certainly can’t blame him. 

 

10 July 1621

I met Patrik in town today, instead of Neolla and Mariek or just staying home to tend the garden. He was upset, I suppose because I left to do something very dangerous and didn’t tell him except to leave a letter. But I think he understands now, or at least I hope so. I don’t think we’ll ever be friends like we were as children, but I don’t want to abandon our friendship. He’s important to me. 

I got a letter back from Sigmun. Like usual it was full of love and affection and worry, reminding me to drink my tea (with the St. John’s Wort, for the sadness) and telling me how much he loves me. I know he’s a bit of a worry-wart (he gets it from Dolora), and it’s sweet, but it makes me worry about him, too. 

I also got a PS from Dolora, in her loopy handwriting, to weed the garden. Of course. 

 

11 July 1621

I felt reflective today, like I do more often these days, and I read my old journals, from when I was sixteen and seventeen. I realize now that my mother was jealous of my youth, the opportunities I had while she was stuck in her failing marriage. I think it must have bothered her that I had a sort of happiness and youth that she was bitter about losing. 

Having met her sister, I understand why she’d be bitter about a happy childhood. 

 

13 July 1621

Neolla and Mariek met me in town today, like we’ve done these days. They had some wonderful news. 

“Remember your final goal? Marching to the palace?” Neolla asked. Mariek had a somewhat scary smile, that sharp grin she has. 

“How could I forget?”

“Well, we’ve got a very important ally for you.”

“Who?”

“Candas.”

“You’re joking!”

“Not at all,” Neolla said. “She’s not truly on your side yet, but we suggested it to her and the idea of equality seemed to appeal to her. I think if we keep pushing at her, we’ll win her over!”

“Thank you,” I said, my breath catching a little with excitement. 

“You’re welcome,” Neolla said. “We’re on your side, you know.”

“Well, she--he is,” Mariek said. It’s easy to forget Neolla goes as Nelson in the village. And I know Mariek’s on our side. Well, Neolla is, and if Neolla is, Mariek is. Even though Mariek’s a bit more…morally grey. 

“You’re the best,” I said. “The both of you.”

“Can I ask why you’re back?”

“For a visit. Simonn wants to visit his siblings--brothers--and Hannah, and I’m here to visit you all.” 

Neolla nodded, accepting, and the three of us talked until dark. 

 

14 July 1621

I suppose I knew I’d miss my love’s birthday, but it still makes me sad. I used to make him baked apples for his birthday because they were his favorite. And I guess I just miss him. He’s my husband; I suppose that’s natural. 

We leave tomorrow, so I should see him again by the twenty-third. I’ll just be glad to see him again. It may sound silly but I miss the feeling of hugging him. Simonn’s my best friend but he’s skin and bones, and while he’s comforting he’s not Sigmun. 

I suppose with Simonn focused elsewhere and Sigmun and Dolora traveling the country, I just feel a weird sort of lonely. 

 

17 July 1621

I’ve fallen asleep without writing for two nights in a row after this vigorous travel. Simonn seems to want to get back to them as much as I do. He’s hardly been talking and I think it’s best to give him some space to sort out his thoughts. If he’s still like this tomorrow I’ll ask. 

 

18 July 1621

Simonn woke me up early to travel and I was a bit confused, because he wanted to go home, and then I felt terrible because I thought he was doing it because I want so badly to go back to Dolora and Sigmun. 

So I asked him about it while we were walking. “Simonn, why’d you get me up so early?”

“If we walk fast enough we can get back to them early.”

“It’s fine if you want to slow down. I’ll live a few more hours without seeing them.” 

“Only if you want to slow down. They’re my family too.” 

I felt terrible again for being so selfish to assume he doesn’t care about Sigmun and Dolora as much as I do, and I said, “I’m sorry. You’re right, they mean as much to you as they do to me.” 

“So let’s walk fast, then, and see them soon. I haven’t spent this much time away from Siggy or Dolora in years.” 

“I’m sorry. I guess I forgot how much they mean to you.”

“It’s fine. I just want to see them again.”

“Me too,” I said. “I’m sorry you can’t have it both ways.” 

“So am I,” he said. “But what we’re doing is going to make the future better for my siblings and…and my daughter.”

“Says the one who’s convinced we’ll fail.”

“I never said we won’t make any progress. Whatever we do manage to do will help them.”

“How are they? You haven’t been talking much, is everything alright?” 

He shrugged. “They’re fine. I still feel terrible leaving my siblings--my brothers--with my uncle, but…they’re safe. So’s Damara, and Hannah. They’re safe being away from me.” 

“They must miss you.” 

“I suppose.”

“Sigmun misses us, he says in all his letters. Your blood family and your fiancée miss you, and I bet your daughter misses her ‘uncle’.” 

“I guess. I’m sad to be leaving them, certainly. I love them, and I was happy to see them. But this matters to me, what we’re doing. You know?”

I nodded. “I know. It matters more to me than anything else.” 

“It’s complicated,” he said. “I love my family at home, of course. I miss them when we’re gone, I’m overjoyed to see them again, and I’m sad to leave them. But I feel the same way about you all.” After a moment of nothing, he added, “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Of course. You’re my best friend.” When he didn’t say anything, I added, “Simonn. I love you to pieces, and you’re important to me. I want you to be happy. Just because you have stronger ties to home than Sigmun or Dolora or me, doesn’t mean you love us or we love you any less. Alright?”

He nodded and we kept up a quick pace, even though we didn’t talk much. 

 

23 July 1621

We finally arrived in the next town we planned to visit today and when Sigmun saw us, his face lit up like the sun and he ran to us and hugged us both, one arm around each so Simonn and I were squished together. He kept saying how much he’d missed us, how worried he was, how much Dolora missed us…all that. 

He insisted Simonn and I rest and he’d get dinner ready, and he and Dolora did. She kissed both our foreheads and asked me if I remembered my tea. I did, and I told her so. She also fussed over Simonn and his usual paleness, skinniness, and exhaustion. 

For once Simonn went to bed early, but I was feeling oddly restless, so I sat up with Sigmun, and then we went into the woods like we do. It was nice, when I’ve been missing him for a while now. He has a very nice body. I know that’s not the sort of thought women are supposed to have, but he does. He’s strong without being grossly muscular, stocky and sturdy but also soft and gentle, and very nice to cuddle with when I sleep. No one else would ever hear me admit it aloud, and I’d never write it if I thought anyone else might read it, but I think he has a nice behind, too. It’s nice to hold. I find men tend to be either awfully skinny, overly muscled, or worryingly wiry. My love is kind of in the middle. 

I almost fell asleep in the woods because I was so pleasantly exhausted. Sigmun woke me up and we walked home and then cuddled together and slept.

 

25 July 1621

I lost track of the days traveling and I was terribly disoriented when my love shook me awake and said, “Are you feeling alright to go hunting for the village or not?”

“What?”

“It’s Sunday, I’m speaking today. If you’re not up to it, it’s fine, but--”

“Oh, no, I’m alright. I just didn’t know it was Sunday.” 

It was a lovely speech, as usual, and I got to talk with a woman afterwards named Bridget. 

“Hi,” I said. 

“Hello,” she said. “I’m Bridget Jennings.” 

“I’m Disciple, nice to meet you.” 

“You’re Disciple?”

“Um. Yes?”

“I’ve heard about you. He talks about you all the time.” 

I smiled a little and said, “That’s somewhat gratifying. He’s my husband. Can I ask why you’re here?” 

“I heard he was talking about giving women the same chances as men. I…I thought it sounded nice. My father refused to teach me how to read, only ever taught my brothers.” 

“Your father read?”

“He was the preacher. I saw you writing?”

“I read and write in eight languages.”

“Heavens! How?”

“I read a lot. I could teach you, if you like.” 

She smiled and said, “Yes, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course I don’t. We can start now if you like.”

So I spent the night teaching her letters and we even got to writing a few words. I have no idea how she spells her name (I guess for most everyone we meet), so I taught her the easiest way, and by the time she left she was absolutely glowing. 

I should just start teaching everyone in these village to read and write. Whenever I even teach a woman to sign her own name, I see her face light up like a sunrise. Whenever I show a child how to write out the blocky letters that are our alphabet, I see the joy in their faces when they run to show their parents and friends. And of course reading letters for people who can’t is such a joy. I think everyone deserves to know how to read and write. 

 

27 July 1621

I’ve been teaching women writing in this village for three days and I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done. It’s so wonderful to see people light up when they learn to read and write. Sigmun thinks it’s wonderful. Sometimes he looks at me like I might be an angel and I wish he wouldn’t, because I’m no angel. I’m just human. 

I told him that, sitting around the fire, and he said, “Love, I don’t think you’re an angel. I don’t think you’re perfect, or flawless. But I happen to love you to pieces, and that’s what’s important to me.” 

“So why do you look at me like that?” I don’t know if I felt angry or frustrated or what, but I wanted to know. 

“Because I love you.” 

“I don’t look at you like that, and I love you.” 

He tilted his head at me. “But you do.” 

“I do?” 

“Sometimes. When I’m speaking. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong.”

I thought about when he speaks and I’m writing and I realized he’s right. I look at him like I love him. 

 

28 July 1621

My love and I sat around the fire tonight, and he was terribly tense. 

“Love,” he said. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Of course,” I said. I noticed he was speaking Russian, so I knew he was desperate not to be heard. 

“Sometimes--not always--but sometimes, when i talk to someone from the village…when we stay long enough, I find…I find that I think they are attractive. I feel terrible when I think of you and I know it’s wrong but--”

“Love, calm down,” I said. “I…I’ve looked at other men. But…you’re my husband. I married you and I promised to love you. I mean, dozens of women don’t love their husbands, but when we were married, we swore to love each other. Just because there are other beautiful people out there, doesn’t mean I love you any less. And I don’t imagine it would mean you love me any less.” 

He nodded. “Alright. I love you, and I know you love me. I just can’t help but worry.” 

“Love, you’re taking to the woman who still has nightmares about her mother.” 

“She was terrible.”

“Indeed.” 

“Let’s go to bed,” he said. “Or, to sleep anyways.” 

I nodded, doused the fire, and followed him to the tent. He’s asleep now, but I’m writing (obviously). I had the thought the other day that this little book is perhaps my most trusted friend. I love and trust my family, of course, but this is where I spit everything out first. I could write anything here and no one could ever get angry at me for it. I know my family doesn’t read it--they respect my space. I’m just safe in this little book. It’s one of my last places of privacy, like sitting around the fire. 

 

30 July 1621

Today my love was wearing one of my shirts when he woke me up (I had so many nightmares last night that I slept past dawn). I almost laughed. “Love, that’s one of mine.” 

“Really? It fits me.” 

“It’s my chores shirt, so I fit it loose. I sewed it with green thread, though. Yours are red.” 

He rolled back the sleeve, then pulled out a couple other shirts, to examine the thread. “I can’t tell.”

“What?” 

“I can’t tell. They look the same to me, frankly.” 

“Then how do you tell the difference?” 

“Well, I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” he started, teasing, “But you and I have vastly different bodies. So if I put on a shirt and it’s too short and the sleeves are too short and there’s a bunch of extra material around my chest and--”

“I get it, I get it,” I said, laughing. “Can you really not tell?” 

He nodded. “I think, frankly, that I don’t quite see colors like everyone else does. Like…leaves in the fall. You and Simonn must see something I don’t in them. I always went because I like watching you and Simonn so enamored.” 

“How do you know?”

“I’ve never been able to tell between green and red--or, what I imagine you call green and red. I know you have green eyes because people don’t have red eyes. But a green or red book--I can never tell the difference.”

“My goodness.” 

He shrugged. “Never bothered me too much.” 

“We could look it up. See if there’s something to be done about it.” 

“Oh, I doubt it. But it’s alright. I’m not sick or anything.” He smiled a little and kissed my nose. I wanted to lean forward and nuzzle at his neck, but I was still lying down at a terrible angle to do so. “I’ll change, then.” He winked at me. “You can watch if you like.” 

“Don’t mind if I do.” I’m not one to pass up the opportunity to see him with no shirt on. He has nice muscles. I can see him with no clothes at all really anytime I like but I like the way he pulls his shirt up over his head--I like the way his muscles stretch. 

Either way, I got dressed and ready for the day, feeling a little happier than normal. Maybe it’s just because I had a good start to the morning, but I was happy. 

 

31 July 1621

Teaching people to read here has been wonderful, but we leave tomorrow. I don’t think anyone’s coming with, but I’m leaving behind some paper and pens so Bridget and everyone can keep practicing. I hope they do keep practicing. 

Dolora was fussing about my tea today, because it’s important for me, but I assured her I drink it every day. I think it’s because of that that these days, I feel alright. I can’t say I’m always happy or anything of that sort, but I feel normal feelings in normal amounts, and sometimes I’m surprised to realize that I really am happy.


	52. Handwritten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More as our heroes travel and the world learns to read and write.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for bearing with me! I've had a very busy month, between college choosing and APs and my job. Hopefully now, with my senior year ending, I will have lots of free time to write.

2 August 1621

A typical travel day today. I like travel days because I don’t have to tie up my hair. For all that we clearly aren’t a traditional bunch, I can’t remember the last time I wore my hair down in public. I know some women even wear their hair up around the house but Simonn and Dolora are as important to me as Sigmun so I just don’t bother, and no one seems particularly bothered by it so I just leave my hair down. I think it looks nicer that way. Putting up my hair is one of those things that I know women are divided on. I don’t mind, though I like my hair better down, but I think it’s about the principle of being allowed to choose. 

Anyways, a good braid is good for hunting. And it’s very cute when I come home from hunting with my braid coming apart and Sigmun decides that the most important thing to do in that moment is redo my braid. 

 

4 August 1621

We arrived in the next town today. Since it wasn’t a Sunday we just gathered some people from town for dinner and afterwards I sat with some of the children--orphans, I think--and showed them how to make chains out of flowers. It sounds frivolous but I remember how happy my chains of daisies made me when I was little, and it was too dark to write. (I’m writing now dangerously close to a candle.) 

I hope this goes well. 

 

6 August 1621

I almost can’t believe what happened today. Someone recognized us! I introduced myself to a woman named Sara and she stared a moment, then said, “Disciple? Are you traveling with Signless?”

“Um, yes? He’s my husband.” 

“My sister told me about you! She sent me a letter, and the priest read it to me, and she told me you’re trying to make things better for women, and for everyone. I had no idea you’d be here!”

“I had no idea anyone would recognize me,” I said, somewhat blankly I think. 

“Are you joking? You’re amazing!”

I felt my face flush a terrible scarlet and I said, “Thank you. But my husband does all the talking.” 

“Well, to big groups, sure. But my sister told me you taught her to write.”

“What’s her name?”

“Em.”

“She wanted to study science,” I said. “I remember her. But I only taught her how to write her name and a few other words.” 

“The priest did the rest, but she signed her own name! Can you teach me to write my name?”

“If you like,” I said, still feeling a little off-kilter. “I can show the other women in the village, too.” 

She grinned so huge, and I smiled back. “Sure! Can we start today?”

“Um, sure. Just meet us outside the village, we have a camp set up.” 

And that’s how I started teaching six women to write their names and read some simple words. How odd. 

 

8 August 1621

His speech was today. I love hearing him speak. He has this wonderful, melodious voice when he talks to a crowd. It’s different when it’s just us, the four of us or the two of us. He speaks gently and softly, and more than anything he’s kind. But his speech was wonderful, as always, and he used my favorite Bible quote--the one from Luke, “Do unto others as you would have them do to you.” I think Luke is my favorite gospel. I know Luke himself was a physician, and it’s the most compassionate of the gospels, the most about teaching people good. I know that nothing can be changed without fighting, without rebelling, without action, but I know too that sometimes it starts with teaching. 

I mean, we didn’t name our only son Luke just for the hell of it. 

 

10 April 1621

It’s a veritable school of women and children and even some men (those who aren’t “above” being taught by a woman) learning to read and write, mostly just their own names, but I’ve been teaching basic phonics, too. It’s amazing how excited people are to learn writing. I realize, though, that I’ve been reading and writing since I was a child. I can’t imagine not being able to. If I couldn’t keep this journal, who knows where my mind would be? 

I won’t write much more--I’m exhausted--but I’ve never seen anyone light up so much as someone who has just learned to write their own name. I think, perhaps, to be able to write your name is to be able to proclaim to everyone, now and in the future, that once, you were here. 

 

11 August 1621

I went out to the woods last night with Sigmun and I remember how on our wedding night I was so curious. I just wanted to know everything about his body, touch every inch of his skin, find out how his hands could feel on every inch of my skin. I still wonder these things; I swear, every time I find out anew how his lips feel on my neck or how he sighs (moans?) when I touch the sweet spots on his back. 

I’d love him if we could never touch again, but nonetheless I don’t want to give up all those lovely sensations of touching and being touched. 

 

12 August 1621

Our last day in this town was today. I never thought of myself as a teacher, nor a preacher, but it seems people here see me as both. It pained me to say goodbye to all these people who want to learn to write, but I think perhaps we can stay in touch. And if the world changes--when the world changes--I will make schools for everyone, so everyone can learn to read and write. 

 

13 August 1621

Sitting by the fire last night, Simonn asked me about the writing and reading. 

“I’m jealous of that. People mostly tell me about their dead families.”

“Well, me too.” 

“But you do something! People are reading and writing!”

“Why can’t you do that?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Men don’t like to listen to me--why don’t you teach men to read and write? At the next village, you can give it a shot.”

“I suppose…”

“Only if you want to.”

“I’ll think on it.” 

I nodded and he sighed. 

“They’ve threatened him.”

“Who?” 

“People who don’t like what we’re doing. They want things to stay the same, politically and socially. And they say they’d kill him.” 

“He’d be a martyr, then.”

“I know. I think the revolution--if that’s what this is--will live on. I just don’t know if we will.”

“What do you mean?” 

“Our family. He’s kind of at the center.”

“What’s this, then? What’s Dolora to you?”

“You both mean the world to me. But I worry…if he died, would we ever recover?” 

“You told me that you’re never the same. It’s a new normal. I think we’d find a new normal.” 

He nodded and sighed again, sounding tired. “I love you,” he said. 

“I love you too,” I said, and then we went back to the tent to go to bed, and I felt safe snuggled up to my love. 

 

15 August 1621

We arrive in the village tomorrow. But tonight the four of us sat around the fire, singing hymns and dance songs, and I felt so at home that I felt I could turn around and the house would be right behind us. 

 

16 August 1621

I think I might fry in the heat sometimes, these dog days of summer. But staying outside in the shade makes it a little more bearable. Speaking of, at least two dozen women and children gathered in the shade of a huge elm tree and learned how to write their names. And even when it was too dark to see, I talked with women about everything--dreams, families, goals, work, religion, children--I mean absolutely everything! I had--have--friends at home I talk about these things with, but it was amazing sitting there with all these women, talking about anything that came to mind. 

I don’t know how anyone comes to the conclusion that women aren’t as intelligent as men, or that people with dark skin aren’t as clever as people with light skin. Sitting and talking with all different kinds of people (if people can be said to have kinds) in the dark, I challenge anyone to pick out who has what color skin. Indeed, I challenge anyone to tell a written speech by a woman from one by a man (I imagine the register of the voice could give it away otherwise, for some people). 

19 August 1621

More reading, more writing. As usual. Today I talked with a woman named Edith, and though I’ve heard hundreds of stories of women who’ve suffered terribly at the hands of men and fate, but Edith wanted to talk to me because she had ambition, too. She wanted to study at university, like me, and it was wonderful sharing my dream with another woman. 

I wish I could tell her our dream was possible. 

 

21 August 1621

Heaven knows I don’t get along with every woman I’ve ever met, but it makes me furious when men challenge what we say because of that. This man John found me today and accused me of not caring about the movement because of that, and I was one word from reaching for my breadknife, but I kept my head. Luckily.

I asked him if he liked every man he knew, and he said no, and I said in that case men must be an awful bunch, then. He got all red in the face and said that’s not what he meant, so I told him that if he didn’t get along with all men in the world, then they all must be awful--and I don’t like all women, so aren’t we an awful bunch, too? 

He was very red by then, so I walked away. He knows he’s wrong, I hope. 

I hope. 

 

22 August 1621

I turned twenty-six today. I don’t feel much older than twenty many days. I’m not sure I can say I’m an adult, though I know I must be one. I still like reading those romance novels and I blush when people ask about Sigmun and I and heaven knows I hardly know what’s going on half the time. How is it possible that I’m an adult? 

Well, anyways, we didn’t really celebrate. Sigmun kissed me when I woke up and wished me a happy birthday, but like with the others in my family, we didn’t really celebrate. I suppose we’re too busy with this whole rebellion business. Not that I want to make it seem trivial! It’s the most important thing we’ve ever done--I’ve ever done. And I believe with all my heart that we are going to make a difference. But it makes me sad to see all our old special occasions pass without comment.

He made his speech today, the usual one, and I was impressed, as ever. It’s so selfish to wish he would pay attention to me the way he does his speeches. I shouldn’t be so selfish. 

 

24 August 1621

My love seemed so tired earlier tonight, and when I asked him what was wrong, he asked me what was wrong. 

“What on Earth do you mean?” 

“You’ve been so tired these days, love.” 

“Not anymore than usual.” 

“You don’t seem to talk to me as much.” 

“You’ve been sleeping earlier than usual--I normally talk to you later.”

“Well, you haven’t been talking, so I slept because I assumed you were tired!” 

I almost laughed at how ridiculous the situation was. “Love, I just didn’t want to tire you out when you’re doing so much.” 

He nodded. “I understand. But love, you could never tire me out. Talk to me?” It was a question, and I knew he really wanted to know what was going on in my head. 

“I know it’s selfish to want you to pay attention to me,” I said, but quietly. 

“No it’s not.”

“It is, I know that.” 

“My love, we’re married. For love. Isn’t part of the deal that we pay attention to each other?” 

“I don’t want to take away from your time.” 

“Love,” he said, taking both my hands in his. “Didn’t we talk about this? I care about the hundreds of people I talk to, in a crowd or alone, but that doesn’t mean you’re not important to me. I love you.” 

“I know you do. And I love you. But…I can’t even explain it. I just can’t stop worrying.” I don’t know why I always think this way. “I think it’s the sadness.” 

“It’s alright, love,” he said. “I understand.” 

That was all he had to say, and we just sat around the fire talking about each other until it was so late he fell asleep on my shoulder, and I woke him up and we walked back to bed. And as usual, I felt safe in his arms. 

 

25 August 1621

I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I’m so insecure. I’ve been through this same thing more than once--worrying he doesn’t care, then finally talking with him and of course him telling me he loves me. I know my family loves me. I don’t know why that’s so hard to remember sometimes. 

Anyways, more reading and writing today. I also talked Edith again, and a woman named Mary who lost her only child--a daughter named Ruth. 

“I understand. My son Luke died when he was fourteen months old.” 

“Your only child?” 

I nodded. “He had winter fever.” 

“My Ruth caught measles.” 

There was a moment of quiet, while the two of us thought about our children, and then I asked, “Your husband?” 

She shrugged. “He isn’t a remarkably warm fellow, but he’s kind enough.” She blushed. “I mean, we don’t…we don’t sleep in the same bed anymore, if you know what I mean.” 

I nodded. “So you don’t want any more children?”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I loved Ruth, but I don’t think I would again. You do?”

“I suppose. I don’t think I’d want more than two children--given the choice--but it’s not really my choice anymore, so.” 

“Not your choice?”

“I can’t have children.” 

“Your son…?”

“I…I miscarry, usually, in the fourth or fifth month. My mother-in-law, our midwife, told me that being pregnant again would be very dangerous for me. I might bleed to death.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” I said gratefully. “I…I know I must be cursed, or a sinner, or what have you. But I suppose I can’t let it bother me too much. I have other things to do.” 

“I’m sorry,” Mary said again. 

“Thank you.” 

“For what it’s worth, you don’t strike me as a sinner.” 

“Frankly, me neither. But I suppose it’s got to do with my mother…she was not a kind woman, but I suppose my sin would be that I never listened to her.” 

“I suppose,” she said, neutrally. 

“My husband tries to convince me it’s nothing I’ve done--some things just happen that way. And I’d love to believe him. It’s just so hard.” 

“He’s right about a lot of things. About fairness, and the government, and equality. Or, I think so, anyways.” She smiles. “You’ve all opened my eyes. I see doors where I used to see walls. I think…I liked what he said about forgiveness. How if men are forgiven for all sins through Jesus, why aren’t women? I imagine you all believe that.” 

“I do. My mind does. My heart is a little more slippery.” 

She nodded her agreement, and there was quiet for a moment. “Is there any way I could teach myself to write?”

“I could send you letters. It’s better in person, but if you can copy the letters and someone else can read them, you could keep learning.”

She smiled at me. “I’d appreciate that.” 

“I don’t think there’s anything so important as being able to record your thoughts. It’s no trouble at all. Just share them with everyone.”

“I will,” she said, like a promise. 

I know she will. 

 

27 August 1621

A travel day today. It wasn’t bad at all. I’m tired from traveling, but it was nice to sit around the fire with just my family. I can’t begin to explain how much I love them, except to say that that house I live in wasn’t what made it home--it was the people in it. 

 

29 August 1621

Today was his speech in the town, and once again our reputation preceded us. People knew who we were. People wanted to talk to us. People wanted to talk to me! They wanted to ask us about our ideas, our ideals, about the writing, about the reading. I couldn’t believe it. I talked with at least a dozen women, and promised all of them reading and writing lessons, and of course their children, too. Children were playing and people were chatting and it felt very friendly and warm. 

When I see the children playing, when they start writing their own names and reading simple words, I really believe that there is hope for the future. 

 

31 August 1621

More lessons today. I always start with names before I move on to the rest of the letters. I’m always astounded by the varieties of handwriting people develop, even though I’m the only one teaching. How does that happen? Is it in our very blood to have our own handwriting? I see how unique each person is, and I think that handwriting is part of it. 

I think a person’s writing is part of them. If each person is unique, and writing is their mark on the world, then of course each person’s hand must be unique. It must be.


	53. Teacher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our character's travels continue to new villages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone for being so patient with me! I just graduated high school, so there's been kind of a lot going on lately, which is why I haven't gotten a lot of writing done. But I'll have a lot more time over the summer to write, so I should be back to every two weeks or even every week if I'm not working much. Thanks to everyone reading!

1 September 1621

I just realized I don’t know what we’ll do for All Saints’ and Christmas this year. As long as I can remember we always just danced in the square, ate dinner, all the usual. I hope the village we visit will let us in; I couldn’t bear to miss those brightest days of the year. I mean, I love celebrating, and…I suppose I know that going to All Saints’ wasn’t really what…what took Luke from me in the end. 

I’m sure we can celebrate the holidays with people in these villages. I think people are more goodhearted than people give them credit for. 

 

3 September 1621

Our last day in this town. It hasn’t been long here, and I suppose it’s because people here seemed so receptive. It sounds a little odd when I say it that way, but I just mean that people seemed eager to listen to him here. I wish we could stay, but as always I’ll keep writing letters back (to all eleven towns so far) and visiting when Simonn and I next go back home (which I suspect will be sometime in winter, if I know Simonn worth anything). 

Today was also Luke’s birthday. But if I think too much about that I might start crying again. I don’t want that to be twice in one day, and I don’t want to wake Sigmun up again. 

I’ll make sure to drink my tea tomorrow. Dolora says I always should, so I struggle less with times like this, but this deceptive sadness likes to trick me into thinking at last it’s over. 

Someday it will be. 

 

5 September 1621

Sigmun and I were sitting at the fire last night (Dolora went to bed early, like she does, and Simonn was talking a walk in the woods) and he asked, “When you visited home…In July. Did you…did you visit…the clearing? Where we…where we…” He swallowed harshly, like there was something in his throat. 

I nodded. “I did. I left flowers for both of us.” 

He nodded, too. He seemed…not nervous, but tense, certainly. I know he misses our little Luke, too. 

“Next time we go home you could come. We could both go visit him.” 

He shook his head. “Thank you, but no. I think I need to be here.”

“I’ll leave flowers for you.” 

“Thank you,” he said gently. I think he thinks about Luke more than I do, sometimes. I think he wanted children more than I ever did. I still can’t sort out what parts of my feelings about having children are my own and which parts are from the rest of the world. I think I wanted children, at least a little, because I loved--love--Luke with all my heart. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to sort out what is mine and what is the world’s. 

 

8 September 1621

I met another woman today who reads and writes! I was writing in my book, the one with his speeches, and she sat next to me and said, “You write down his speeches?”

“Yes. I translate them, too. I speak quite a few languages.” 

She leaned over my book and said, “You have nice penmanship.”

“I wish. You should see Dolorosa’s.” 

She smiled. “I’m Elizabeth. It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Disciple. Lovely to meet you, too.” 

“Where did you learn to read and write?”

“My mother-in-law taught me. Dolorosa. She’s a wonderful teacher. What about you?” 

“My mother. Apparently my great-grandmother learned by eavesdropping on her brothers and since then it’s been a mother-daughter tradition.” She smiled. “A bit odd, I know. But there you have it.”

“My mother-in-law learned to read at school, had to leave her family after they found out she didn’t want to get married, and then taught Signless and Psiioniic and I as a matter of principle. It’s not so odd.” 

“Signless is your husband, right?”

“Yes. How did you guess?”

“Well, the rings.” 

“Oh, right.” I laughed a little, feeling nervous and silly. 

“What about Dolorosa and Psiioniic?”

I almost laughed aloud. “Heavens no. Psiioniic is engaged, but the priest won’t marry them because she’s Jewish. Dolorosa is determined to be an old maid.” I know that most people probably wouldn’t run us out of town on a rail if they knew Dolora loved women (Sigmun and I sin the same way she does, though that’s no public matter) but I’d rather not risk it. I know too that the love isn’t the problem, but I also really do not want to discuss private details of my mother-in-law’s life (she might as well be my mother), especially the “sinful” ones. 

“Oh.”

“What about you?”

She shrugged. “There’s a fellow I like a bit. He’s going to be a merchant, so he will have money to support me. And I like him well enough. And he’d be gone most of the time.” 

I didn’t say that she reminded me overwhelmingly of my mother, because I did not want to tell that story and she seemed kind. “Is being gone an asset?”

“I don’t really think I’d be a good mother, so yes.” 

“Ah.” 

“I’m no romantic, but I don’t want to live in my parent’s house forever. So I think he’d be a good pick. I don’t imagine you went along the same lines.”

“No, I was extraordinarily lucky. I had a job of my own and my parents and I…don’t speak. So I chose him because I love him. And because I think I did want children, once.” It’s amazing how I find myself spilling all this to whoever I talk to in these villages. 

“Once?”

I didn’t know how to answer, and she noticed. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. It must be hard sharing your personal life with so many people.”

“Thank you,” I said. “It’s just that I had one child--Luke--and he passed away. And I can’t have children, really. Dolorosa, our midwife, said it could be dangerous.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“Thank you.” Then, “We can talk about something else if you like. My depressing early marriage surely isn’t the most important thing to discuss.” 

So we talked about reading, mostly the Bible because it’s what we’d both read, until it was late enough that she slept in camp with us. 

 

10 September 1621

I started up lessons a few days ago and today there was a massive turnout like I couldn’t believe. I know my love is a teacher and a preacher, but I really thought I was just a scribe and translator--not a teacher myself! I suppose, though, that part of being a disciple is spreading the word yourself, and I am doing that, because there is power in reading and writing and I think I’m helping wrest that power from rich men with pale skin. (How melodramatic!) 

Anyways, the children learn quicker, of course. But it’s gotten easier because Simonn finally agreed to help me out a little. He still likes to prowl around as if we’re about to be attacked at any moment, but he helped a little today. 

I think Simonn has the sadness, too--he just feels it different. I’ll have him take some of my tea tomorrow. 

 

12 September 1621

He made a speech today, like most Sundays. I wrote it down, and started translating, and even got set to prepare some letters and pamphlets to send across the ocean. As soon as we can get someone to transport them across the ocean (hopefully Candas, but anyone will do), I’ll be sending them. I hope the message makes it without the people to carry it. 

 

14 September 1621

I talked with Elizabeth again today. I really enjoy her company. I’ve talked with lots of women in this village, like every village, but Elizabeth and I have been talking a good deal. I don’t mean to say that I prefer women who read and write, because obviously most women don’t and I don’t want to fault them for it when it’s got to do with the world and the way we’re raised and how men think women shouldn’t read and write, and I don’t think I think I’m any better than any other women for reading and writing, but I think Elizabeth and I would be friends either way. 

A girl I’m teaching named Julianne has the most beautiful penmanship. I was watching her write and she put this lovely little flourish on her e. I’m still getting used to my new signature, so mine isn’t nearly as pretty. I was just so impressed, considering she just learned and I’ve been writing my whole life. What a talent! 

 

15 September 1621

We leave in two days. It feels like a short time, but people have listened here, too. Sigmun’s excited to move on, if sad about leaving (as always). Simonn is betraying no feeling, and Dolora is happy to be spreading her techniques. I wish I could talk more to Dolora. She’s been my mother since I was young, even though I didn’t understand it then. 

 

17 September 1621

We leave tomorrow. But on another topic, I talked with Dolora this afternoon a little. We talked about what we’re doing, how our respective jobs are going, the people we’ve met. 

“And how are you?”

“What?”

“How are you, Di--Disciple dear?” 

“I’m…alright, I suppose. I haven’t thought about it much.”

“Dear, it’s important, what we’re doing. We both know it. But remember to think about yourself a little, alright?” 

“I will, Dolorosa. I learned my lesson.” 

“In that case, remember to drink your tea,” she chastised gently. 

I felt young, like I’d taken a cookie from the tray before they were cool. I have been forgetting my tea lately. 

“I’ve boiled some water,” she said, reaching over the fire to the kettle. “Here you are. I’ll get the tea.” 

I know that I should drink my tea every night, because it helps with the sadness, but it’s so easy to forget with everything else going on. Or maybe that’s part of the sadness? I honestly don’t really know. 

 

19 September 1621

Today was a really lovely day. It was just us, so I hunted for just us, and after Dolora was in bed and Simonn was reading, Sigmun and I went into the woods like we do. It was very nice and I’m exhausted and, admittedly, a little sore (it’s easy to get carried away, I suppose). Either way, it was a nice night. And I remembered my tea. 

Dolora told me I might have melancholy, I think, since I’ve been sad most of my life. But she also told me it’s manageable, and I’m doing the right thing by relying on my family and eating good food and drinking my tea every night. I’m sure there’s something wrong with my head, but I’ve felt this way for a long time--I know how to handle it. 

I have my family. That’s all I need. 

 

20 September 1621

First day in a new town. We missed the Sunday, so the big speech won’t be until next Sunday (the twenty-sixth, I think), but he’ll make little speeches like he does. Well, littler. They’re still pretty big, all things considered. Anyways, I spread the word about the writing lessons, and it looks like before long I’ll have the usual crowd. Hopefully Simonn concedes to help--I’m sure I’ll need it!

 

23 September 1621

Things have been so incredibly busy lately! Dozens of women and children sitting around writing on whatever surfaces we could find, just practicing letters. I was so amazed to see how quick the children learn. Sometimes I find I’m not the best at talking to children, but the way their faces shine when I tell them how impressive their penmanship is makes me feel so happy. Maybe I did want children? It makes me happy to be around them. 

It doesn’t matter. The point is the teaching is going well, and I’m glad to see that so many people want to learn. That’s the first step in learning something. 

 

25 September 1621

There’s a speech tomorrow and we’re all trying to spread the word and all that, and it’s incredibly easy to tell the people I teach, but not so much some others in the village. As usual, it’s harder to convince older men with light skin, and as usual, Dolora and I just talk to women. Men always panic so terribly when they see their wives going somewhere they aren’t, and end up tagging along. It’s hilarious. 

I talked with a woman named Eppie today. She has this really nice curly hair and dark skin and that slanted, thin penmanship like Dolora has. (Most people’s handwriting is mostly blocky, but there are differences and trends). 

“I’ve heard Signless talking about equality,” she said, and I could tell she was about to discuss and I was quite excited. 

“Yes.” 

“And I was wondering. You talk about equality for women, and people with dark skin, what about women with dark skin?”

“Well, I mean, we believe in equality for everyone.” 

“But…you understand how it’s different, right?” 

“Pardon?”

“Well, I mean…it’s different being a woman with white skin like you. I don’t think you feel the same way I do.”

“Then tell me,” I said, curious. 

So she told me, and she actually told me a lot I didn’t know about being a woman with dark skin. Well, I suppose I didn’t know much, but either way, I learned a lot. And I’m glad, because otherwise I don’t think I would’ve known. 

 

26 September 1621

Speech today. It was good, but we’re all exhausted (or at least, I am), so I’m just going to sleep. 

 

28 September 1621

Simonn was sitting up late, looking into the fire, and so I got up and asked him if he was alright. 

“Are you alright?”

“Nothing.” 

“What?”

“Oh. Um. Sorry. I expected you to ask what was wrong.” 

“Is something wrong?”

“No!” 

“Alright. If you say so. I’m going to sit here with you, though, okay?” 

“Okay,” he said, and he sounded grateful. 

 

29 September 1621

It’s our last day. I wish I could stay in touch with Eppie--we talked a good deal and I like her. I think we’d be friends in another life. I know I’ll visit on our travels, and I know someday I’ll be able to visit whenever, after the world changes, but I still miss all the towns we leave. All thirteen of them. 

 

30 September 1621

We left town today. These feel shorter and all that, but I felt like we made so much progress. I taught dozens of people to read and write, I learned about how it feels to be a woman with dark skin, Sigmun spoke to almost the whole village, and we got through to a lot of people, I think. 

I hope it goes this well every time!


	54. Readaloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna continues to improve her curriculum and get irritated with local priests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back on schedule, for the most part! Hopefully it'll be like this for the rest of the summer. 
> 
> I'll be at Anime Midwest when I'd normally post my next chapter so it might be a little late, but if you're there come find me!

1 October 1621

My bleeding hit hard this time. I woke up this morning with my whole body aching, especially my back, and I could feel the blood dripping. I sighed and, seeing my love awake, said, “My ability to have children--or lack thereof--will be the death of me.”

“Love, are you alright? I can get Mama--are you pregnant? I--oh no, what--”

“Calm down love. It’s just my bleeding. It hurts right now.”

“Oh.” I saw him take a deep breath. “Want some willow?”

“I’ll get Dolora’s pain medicine.” 

“I can.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time, love.” 

So he got me the pain medicine, because he’s a sweetheart, and we traveled. I hate my bleeding. Dolora says it’s supposed to be regular, once every month or so, but since most of us don’t eat enough it’s different, like mine. But, then, I can’t have children anyways, so I don’t see the point. 

 

3 October 1621

A new day, a new town. So far it’s the same: spreading the word, responding to questions, hunting. Writing lessons start tomorrow. As usual, most women were apprehensive but willing to try, with some overjoyed and some more reluctant, and the usual contingent absolutely against it. I try not to get too stressed about it; I know our ideas and ideals are radical and frighten most people. But by the end, most seem to understand, at least. Dolora usually works on the refusals, and Simonn’s taken to debating the light-skinned men who are afraid to give up what they have. 

It’s still new, being a teacher. I think I like it. 

 

5 October 1621

The priest here is absolutely set against us. Most don’t like us, but this one is taking a stand. He came to our camp today and told us we were all sinners headed straight for hell. Many people have told us that, so it didn’t bother me too much, but my love was ready to debate for all he was worth. Part of me wanted to go get my book and pen, but part of me thought that would look odd (I wrote it down later). But my favorite part was how Sigmun would ask one of us to chip in, too, to prove to the priest (Reverend Carmitz) that we’re all in on this. I sat for a while proving to him how I was quite clever, in fact. Even for a man, he said. (Simonn made fun of me for how I rolled my eyes when he said that.) 

The rest is in my book. I’ll edit it later. 

 

6 October 1621

My love seemed tense, after the speech. He gave his big speech and then he said to me, later, “I feel like I’m only talking to the people who don’t need to hear what I’m saying.” 

“Love, everyone can benefit from hearing you.”

“But the people who really need to hear me--they’re not here. The women who don’t come, or the men with light skin--they don’t hear me. They’re the ones who need to.”

“They come in the end.”

“Sometimes.”

“Love, people like us--women, men with dark skin--they need to hear it. If you never had anyone tell you that your thoughts mattered, would we be here? We need to hear you, or people won’t try.”

“I suppose.”

“You’re just human, my love. Don’t stress too much. You’ll be alright. We’re doing good work.”

“Then don’t exclude yourself, love. You’re doing good work, too.”

“I suppose.” 

“I know you write all the time--it must mean something to you. And it must mean something that you’re passing it on.”

“It does. More than I can say.”

“Then you’re doing good work. Reading and writing are important skills.”

“I know that.”

“Then you know you’re doing good work.”

“Love…”

“You need to hear it as much as I do. More.”

“I don’t need to hear anything.”

“Love,” he said. “I know you get stressed and tired and insecure. I just want you to know you mean a lot to me, and to us.”

“I know,” I said. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

He kissed me, almost unbearably gentle, and I loved the feeling of his hand in mine. 

 

9 October 1621

I woke up this morning absolutely frozen with dread. I can’t even say what it was, but I felt deep in my bones this awful sense of dread. 

I’m turning into Simonn, with his frightening nightmares. At least I’m not seeing something like I imagine he does. 

Oh, and the writing lessons are going well. I’d say about…a little less than half the women are there. The other half are afraid or adamantly against it (though I suspect the latter is expression of the former). Dolora’s doing her good work talking to them gently in a way I’m no good at, and healing of course. 

Teacher, preacher, healer, prophet--and here I thought I wasn’t religious! 

 

11 October 1621

It’s Neolla’s birthday today. She’s twenty-seven. 

There was more debate with Reverend Carmitz today. He’s very intelligent, so debating him is interesting, but it’s frustrating how he won’t change his mind ever. It’s going to drive me mad, I swear. He just won’t judge. 

Although, what can I say--I won’t budge, either.

 

12 October 1621

Simonn had one of his nightmares last night. I woke up late from a nightmare of my own and got up to sit with him near the fire. 

“Nightmare?” he asked. 

“Of course. Future-nightmare?”

He nodded. 

“It was…well…I think we were…arrested. Or something? I just remember…chains. Cold hands. I reached out to take your hand but I couldn’t, every time I got close you were dragged farther away…” He shivered. “Screaming. All of us. It was terrible.” 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks.”

There was silence for a minute, a sort of empty pause. 

“They’re getting worse.”

“What?”

“The nightmares.”

“Oh.”

“It’s coming. Whatever it is, it’s coming. Since we started this…it’s going to be our downfall.”

“I know that.”

“But…I…I can’t tell you. The ways it will hurt.”

“Simonn, I’m stronger than that. I can stand pain.”

He looked haunted when he looked at me. “Not like that, Deedee.” it was such a strange mix of ominous and lighthearted, with my old nickname thrown in, that I just didn’t know what to say.”

“Si--”

“Please, Deedee. I just want to sit awhile.” He looked unbearably exhausted, so I nodded and sat next to him until he fell asleep on my shoulder. 

 

14 October 1621

My back is just going to give out one of these days, between the cold, the travel, the hard dirt we sleep on, and the hunting. But until then, I’ll keep going. Heaven knows I won’t stop. That’s not who I am. And this isn’t about me, either. It’s about the ones who hear us. 

 

16 October 1621

We leave tomorrow, and I (as usual) can hardly stand to see those we leave. So many who want to keep learning, hungry for this new freedom.

We’ll come back. They’ll hear from us again. If it’s not the equality, everyone’s sick of the unfair taxes. 

 

17 October 1621

We leave tonight and I’m a little nervous to heard to a new town because this is the one we’ll be in for All Saints’ Day, which I don’t think I’ll ever separate from my little Luke’s passing. We might be traveling again November seventh, and I hope so--I find it’s easier to be alone with my family that day.

I’ve liked this town well enough. I wish them the best. 

 

19 October 1621

A new town, a new adventure. We did our usual on the first day. I’m so tired from hunting, I can’t write any more. 

 

20 October 1621

Like always, I went to church this morning at the town church, and I’m just feeling irate about it right now. He preached about how terrible it is to sleep with someone if you’re not trying to have a child and married, and I’m just started to feel so fed up with that whole line of reasoning. If I want to go out to the woods and take my husband until he screams (or gnaws on my shoulder, whichever), whose business is that but mine and his? (And now my journal’s, I suppose.) I don’t see what’s wrong with it. It’s my body and life, and I’m not hurting anyone. Why does God care what a couple does alone at night? 

I think I find more and more as I grow that these things I thought I believed are just things I was told so often as a child that I decided they must be true. 

 

22 October 1621

I met a lovely woman named Eden today while I was doing the reading and writing lessons and she brought a book to show me. 

“My grandfather wrote a book, and I always wanted to read it,” she said. 

“I could read it to you, if you like.” 

“Would you?”

“Of course. Stay after the lessons for dinner and I’ll read it. I’ll have to go out hunting, but I’m sure my husband or my mother-in-law or my best friend can read it for you until I get back.” 

“Thank you,” she said, smiling big. 

“You’re welcome.”

“So, what did we get to last time?”

“We were all practicing our names.”

“Right. We’re going to do some reading today.” 

She smiled. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” 

“I mean it.”

“I know. Reading and writing is important to me, and I love seeing other people learn.” 

“You must’ve been doing it your whole life.” 

“Since I was seven. My mother-in-law taught me.” I felt myself smile, remembering my first attempt at writing. The things I told my mother to explain away my ink-stained hands…

“Let’s get started,” I said. 

Later, after I hunted, I read the book to Eden until it was too dark to see. 

 

24 October 1621

I’ve been reading to Eden each night and I never realized, but it’s helping her read so much. I should start reading aloud to the women I teach, like Dolora did when I was little. I think it’ll really help. 

The only problem is that I didn’t bring many books. A Bible, a romance novel I like, and a book in French about an adventurer. Simonn has his battered copy of Principia, but I’m not sure that’s the best option. 

 

25 October 1621

Besides Eden’s book, I started reading my romance novel aloud to teach the women I teach to read. I mean, it’s well written, and it’s got lots of good words in it. Besides that Kirchine and Mary both told me they like it, I think they’re understanding the reading better. 

 

27 October 1621

We’re getting closer to All Saints’ Day, and I’m feeling nervous. I talked with Eden and Mary, and they’re both sure the village would be glad to let us in on the festivities. I sure hope so. 

 

29 October 1621

Last night when Sigmun and I went out to the woods, he wanted to talk, too. 

“You and Simonn. Have you both been having nightmares?”

“Yes.” 

“Has he been having his future-nightmares?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“The ones where we all die?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “There’s not much detail.” I hate lying to him. I should’ve known he’d figure out something was wrong; he’s so empathetic. 

“And you?”

“Just the usual.” 

“Love, if there’s anything I can do for you--either of you, just wake me up, I won’t mind--”

“I’m fine. I can handle it on my own.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.” 

“Simonn and I just sit together by the fire, we have each other.” 

“Alright, love. But if you ever need someone who isn’t shivering from nightmares, I’ll be there.”

“You have your own dreams to deal with, though. And they’re must stranger than mine.”

“And don’t I tell you about them?”

“You have better ways to handle things than me, love.” 

“Well, I’m always here for you. Whatever you need.” 

“What if I need you to kiss me senseless?”

He smiled. “Then I’m happy to oblige.” 

And that was that. 

 

30 October 1621

Tomorrow is the festival. I’m nervous, but we’ll go into town with the people who believe in us and I’m sure Mary and Eden and Kirchine will be kind. 

I had a nightmare last night and, deciding for once to take someone’s advice (heaven knows I have a stubborn streak), I woke up my love and I didn’t even have to say anything. He saw I was crying and he held my head to his chest and whispered to me how he loved me and I’d be okay. 

I should’ve listened to him the dozens of times before he told me. I felt so safe and cared for, so warm and loved. I think if Simonn wakes up I’ll still sit with him--while I’m sure he could wake up Sigmun if he wanted to, he never would--but I think for me, I might just wake up my love once in a while. 

 

31 October 1621

Today was All Hallows’, and we went to the village, and it was every bit as wonderful and fun as I remember our village’s being. There was dancing and food, and they had a fiddler, and though their dances weren’t exactly the same, they were similar enough that I could follow along. Eden invited us to her home for dinner, and we met her husband. He seemed a nice enough fellow, a bit of a distracted man--a daydreamer, maybe. I know the sort. 

It was delicious, and I felt comfortable and warm when it was time to go home. 

But nonetheless I thought about my little Luke and had trouble sleeping, because I could hardly stop crying. I’m just glad my family was there for me, and that I could be there for them. I’m done being isolated by grief, not when my family is with me.


	55. Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Saints' Day comes, and Dianna and Simonn make plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late chapter again! But I'm getting in the habit of writing most days, so the next few should be on time. Thanks for reading!

1 November 1621

Today was All Saints’. It didn’t hurt that much, not after all these years. It was…actually quite fun, all things considered. There was the usual: dancing and food, a fiddler and all that good stuff. I felt quite comfortable dancing with my husband and my best friend (Dolora doesn’t dance much). Nothing much else is comfortable in our lives right now--sleeping on the ground, always half-afraid of some official showing up to arrest us, feeding about thirty times the people I used to--but it was fun and happy. 

Kirchine invited us for dinner and we met her husband and two children, who were just the sweetest. She has a son, James, and a daughter, Margery. It was delicious and fun, and when we got back to the tent to sleep, I felt very secure and happy. 

 

3 November 1621

We’re staying longer in this town so we can be traveling the seventh, and I don’t mind because reading has been going so well. I love seeing people recognize a word and read it aloud, or sign their name perfectly and know what it says. It’s such a wonderful feeling. 

 

5 November 1621

We left today, early, and the cold makes it slower going. It’s really setting in and making it a lot more necessary to sleep close to Sigmun. We’ve been walking mostly in silence, and I can tell everyone is thinking about something. Simonn about his dreams, Sigmun about his, Dolora about us probably, and me about my family. 

I think it’d be better if we talked, but it’s hard. 

 

7 November 1621

Of course I cried today, I couldn’t help it. And being away from home…I wanted to put flowers on his grave, but instead he’s alone. He’d be four years old this year. He’d be talking and playing and I’d come home from work to see him and my love reading or playing, smell dinner cooking. 

I know it’s pathetic to dream of domesticity, but I do. Sometimes I just want to be safe and happy at home. 

 

8 November 1621

We arrived in a new town today. Immediately the local priest was unhappy with us. His name was Reverend Cohen, and he just lit into us about hellfire and all that (I tuned it out after a while, because he wasn’t really making any points--just shouting about us going to hell). 

But we set up camp anyways and I went hunting and all I could think of was myself as an older woman teaching my son to hunt. 

 

10 November 1621

We started lessons today, and fewer people came because it’s so damn cold. But those who did come were pretty determined. We got very far! This one woman named Jane did so well, she was writing her name by the end of the lesson. 

I feel like I have more faith in the world after seeing things like this. 

 

12 November 1621

With the show on the ground and the freezing air, Dolora’s been helping more people treat winter colds and illnesses like winter fever. I hate seeing children with winter fever. I hate seeing children in pain. I used to think I could be the midwife after Dolora, but I can’t stand to see people suffering. I couldn’t bear to watch people die. 

One girl here has brain fever, and I hate to see that. Her name is Theresa, and I know her because she heard about the reading lessons and got excited, and who am I to turn down a little girl who wants to know how to read and write? I’ve been visiting her after normal lessons are over. I’m so glad to be teaching someone, no matter who it is. 

 

13 November 1621

I’ve been thinking of moving lessons to an inside space, maybe the church. I mean, I doubt the priest would stand for it, but I don’t care. In my opinion, everyone should learn to read and write, and if that means that more than just a few priests can read the Bible, then so be it! 

(Which is almost certainly the reason they don’t want anyone else to read.)

Anyways, it is just too cold out to keep people outside for too long. If it won’t be the church, it’ll be someone’s house. Otherwise someone might freeze to death. 

 

15 November 1621

I got a letter from home today and I couldn’t believe it. Neolla sent me a quick note, I suppose deciding it couldn’t wait, telling me that Candas wants to join the cause! Apparently she agrees that it’s not fair for one person to hold all the power and she wants no part in a government if it’s not one that’s fair. I told Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora right before we went to sleep, and they’re all pretty excited too. 

I’m not sure I really trust her, but for Sigmun’s sake I’ll try to. 

 

17 November 1621

Simonn was up last night, huddled close to the fire, and when I woke up I took a blanket and wrapped it around the both of us so he wouldn’t freeze to death. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t trust her.”

“Candas?”

He nodded. “I can’t explain it. Something about her just feels…wrong.”

“I always got a bad feeling from her. But I know people can change.”

“I do too. But sometimes you have to trust your instincts.”

“I suppose.” 

For a moment, we just sat there, close and warm. 

“I can’t trust her,” Simonn said. 

“Why not?”

“Between that bad feeling I had in the palace, and the bad one now…she’s got something to do with it. Whatever’s in my dreams.” 

“What?” 

“The…thing in my dreams. This nightmare I’ve been having for years, every April. I don’t know what it is, but I’m pretty sure she’s part of it. I don’t know why. It’s just a feeling.” 

“Simonn, no offense or anything, but I would like a little more than a feeling to toss out the support of the future queen of our country.” 

“You don’t really trust her, either.” 

“Maybe I don’t. But I do trust him, and he can’t know you don’t trust her.” 

“Let’s add another thing to list of things we can’t tell him.” 

“Stop it,” I said (whined, a little). 

“Stop what?”

“I already feel guilty enough keeping things from him. Do you know he asked me what your nightmares are about?” 

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. We both know he can’t know this, and we both know it’s hard,” I said. “And I’m pretty sure you’re keeping things from me, too.” 

“What?”

“Odds are good there are things he’s told you he hasn’t told me. And odds are good there are things he’s told me that he hasn’t told you, even though I’m not sure what off the top of my head.” 

“I’m not keeping any secrets from you. He talks to me about a lot of things, including you, but nothing I don’t tell you.”

“What does he say about me?” 

“Um, I don’t know. Sometimes--I’m serious--he just gushes to me about how much he loves you.” He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes he worries about being a ‘bad husband’, by traditional standards, and he just fusses about being a good husband a lot.”

“I’ve been through that with him--”

“He’s an incurable worrywart, I think it’s just part of his personality. Look, I don’t know, I don’t have any secrets from you. You’re my best friend. Well, so is he, but…you know what I mean!”

“You love him, so you don’t tell him certain things. You love me, so you tell me everything.” 

He nodded. “Yes.”

“I feel the same way,” I said. 

There wasn’t much talk after that. We just sat in silence until we were almost frozen and we had to go in the tent to sleep. 

 

19 November 1621

I swear Sigmun can tell Simonn and I are keeping something from him. Maybe he can tell I feel guilty. His empathy might as well be a psychic power, sometimes. He’s been giving me that look when he knows I want to talk to him. Even as we’re preparing to leave this town, he knows something’s different with me. 

 

21 November 1621

We left the town early today and after dinner, after me hunting and Dolora cooking her stew, after Dolora went to bed and Simonn went for a walk, Sigmun and I were sitting in the tent and he said, “Penny for your thoughts.” 

“Oh, they’re worth much less than that.”

“Not at all, I’m sure they’re very valuable.” 

“You’re silly. I’m just thinking about Candas.”

“How come?”

“Well, I’m overjoyed she’s on our side. You know that. But part of me worries--she always frightened me a little. Not to mention Grantt and Orvill.” 

“Well, we won’t be dealing with them directly. Mostly through letters.” He knows me so well. 

“I know. But I’m just worried because I don’t trust her to give up her power.”

“She’s not joining to give up her power. She said she didn’t want to rule an unfair country.” 

“Alright,” I said. I knew there was nothing I could say to dissuade him, and I realized that it might be for the better. Let my love believe in goodness and trust, and Simonn and I will do what we always do--protect him. 

I don’t mistrust Candas like Simonn does. I think she could have a spark of good in her. I think with time she might actually help us. But I don’t trust her like Sigmun does. 

I might as well have been named Janus with how two-faced I feel these days. 

 

23 November 1621

We’re in a new town, and it’s quite cold and snowy out. There’s no way writing lessons can even start outside here. I’ll talk to the priest today and see how he feels about it. Some are kinder than others. 

 

24 November 1621

The priest agreed! He agreed that people ought to learn to read and said it was alright to use the church (although, to be fair, Simonn asked, so he might change his mind when he finds out we’re teaching women). I’m excited to begin here. 

 

26 November 1621

I met a woman named Agnes, who was much kinder than the seamstress in charge at home, and as we were practicing writing, she asked, “Why aren’t there any men here?”

“I imagine they don’t want to be taught by a woman.” 

“So why do you teach, and not one of the men in your party.”

“It matters more to me that I teach women, because there’s hardly anyone else capable. Men have more options--and they are always welcome at these lessons. It’s their choice not to come.” Then I added, “Besides, my husband and my best friend have other tasks. I think they teach men to read sometimes. Heaven knows most people in this country don’t have the opportunities they deserve.” 

She nodded, and then said, “So you want to give everyone the same chances?”

“Yes.” 

“What about people who don’t take chances? Or people who can’t?”

“Anyone who can’t work still deserves to live. If family can’t care for them, we hope to set up a government that will. And I really think people will take whatever chances are offered to them, if only the chances are present in the first place.” 

She nodded again. 

“Sorry, I don’t want to preach at you. I want to hear about your life.”

She’s twenty-six and married to a man named Tom, with one little daughter named Sally, and she’s pregnant right now (it’s quite visible). I wish her the best--heaven knows I’m sympathetic towards women giving birth. 

 

28 November 1621

Last night, Simonn went to sit by the fire and I heard him get up so I followed him, because I was worried about his nightmares. 

“Simonn.”

“I knew you were awake. I need to talk to you about something.” 

I rolled my eyes. “You could just tap my shoulder or something, silly.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“So what is it?”

“I want to go home again.” 

“For a visit.”

“Of course. And…you know I hate to drag you away from the work you’re doing…” 

“I’ll go with you, Simonn. We can visit all the other towns again, and I wouldn’t mind seeing Neolla and Mariek and Patrik. They’re my friends, too.”

“Then when should we leave?”

“Well, if we walk quickly, and stop half a day in each town…it’ll take about eighteen days. Maybe twenty.”

“Then how about we leave a December second. To be home for Christmas.” 

“Is…is it…”

“You can have Christmas dinner with my family. Of course it’s alright.” 

“Stop reading my mind like that, it’s weird.” 

“As if you don’t do the same thing.” 

I sighed and said, “He’s going to worry himself to death.” 

“That’s true.” 

“I’ll write.”

“And he’ll worry. But we’ll be fine. Traveling home feels safe--farther from what will hurt us.” 

“Well, that’s good.” 

“We’ll tell him tomorrow,” Simonn said. “No sense waking him so late.” 

I nodded. “He wouldn’t even be coherent.” 

Simonn laughed, quietly, and said, “It’s late.”

“And yet.” 

“We should sleep.” 

“We should.” 

A pause. 

“If I have one more nightmare I’ll lose my mind,” Simonn said. 

“Just try to sleep,” I said. 

“You know how it is.”

“I do. And I know that being tired makes them worse.” 

He sighed, rolled his eyes. “I know you’re right, but still.” 

“You’re stubborn as a bull.”

“You’re worse.”

I smiled a little. “Come on.”

He followed me to the tent and I curled up with my love while he went to his own bedroll. 

 

29 November 1621

Of course Sigmun is already out of his mind with worry. But I assured him I’d write every day, or at least every other day, and we’d be together. I didn’t tell him about my breadknife, but I’ll have it. Part of me thinks I should get a proper weapon, and part of me thinks that would be incredibly hypocritical considering how much he preaches not using violence. 

Oh well. No one needs to know. I’d rather be alive with a weapon than dead.


	56. Home for the Holidays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna and Simonn travel home again for Christmas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a couple days late! I hope you guys like this.

1 December 1621

Simonn and I leave tomorrow. It’s snowy and cold out, and I think it will not be an easy walk back, but we can walk quickly and hopefully not freeze to death in the cold. 

I’m wearing lots of layers and I have my good winter boots, so I’m sure I’ll be alright. We’ll stop in the towns for just a few hours, and travel before and after it gets dark with a lantern. I wrote down the people I met in each town, but I think I’ll just recognize them. 

 

2 December 1621

Sigmun almost cried when we left. I hate to leave him, but I think it’s important to stay in touch with the towns we’ve visited, and it’s important for Simonn to visit home. It means a lot to him to see his siblings growing up. Of course it does--it means a lot to me to see them grow up, and I’m not related to them. 

Sometimes I feel this odd longing for the sister I know I have. I know there is another woman about my age in the castle near my home who is being groomed to be a countess, born to the same parents but raised so very apart. 

I wonder what she’s like, sometimes. I guess I’ll never really know. 

 

4 December 1621

We stopped in the first town today. It was just Agnes, the woman I met last time, and a few of the other women I taught to read and write. We chatted, and I left them some learning things I drew up--pictures and words paired together, like an apple. I thought it would help. They speak the language--I just need to show them how to write it. 

 

6 December 1621

I saw Eden today in town, and read some more of her book for her. I left her and Mary and Kirchine the cards, too. I hope they keep learning; I hope someday Eden can read the book her grandfather wrote. 

 

7 December 1621

We argued for a bit with Reverend Carmitz today, and after quite a while I finally gave up and told him he was an incurable bigot (what a wonderful word) and went to find the women I taught here to give the cards to. 

 

9 December 1621

I talked with Eppie today about his ideals--she seems so excited! I love when people don’t just want to pay more reasonable taxes or get a fair shake in government--although those are both highly reasonable things to want. I just love when people actually want to listen and perhaps think about what we have to say. 

 

10 December 1621

It was Elizabeth today, the woman who also reads and writes. We talked some and I gave her the cards to teach the other women in the village, because I think it helps to see what you’re learning to read. I hope she can keep up lessons for her village, at least. 

 

12 December 1621

I talked with Edith today, and it was so lovely to hear her talk about her dream of university again. It’s always a relief to be reminded that I am not the only woman who wants more than this, what is given to me. 

I had the thought, today, that while I was happy when I had my golden life with my husband and my baby and everything was traditional and calm, I am just as happy now, making a difference in the world (I hope) and teaching people to read and write. 

No, I was content at home. I am happy here. 

 

13 December 1621

I talked with Sara today--the one who recognized me, Em’s sister. I gave her the cards, and I hope she keeps learning. She was so excited to learn to write her name, and hers is the first village where I started out giving lessons. The start of my routine in these towns. 

 

14 December 1621

I saw Bridget today, one of the first women I taught to write. She told me she was still practicing, and even learning some. She told me she wanted to do something, help us, do more with her life than listen to others. I think she’s a bit like me--she was content at home, and she wants to be happy doing something else. 

 

16 December 1621

It’s late and we have been traveling hard for days, sleeping only a few hours a night. I’m so exhausted I might just pass out but we have to be home for Christmas. I wish I could talk to Simonn more; he’s my best friend. I hope when we get home we can rest some more. 

 

17 December 1621

I saw Adilene today, the woman who’s like Neolla. I wish there was a word for that. I mean, we don’t all love the same people the same ways, I don’t see why there aren’t words for that in a language with so very many words. We have at least ten words for beautiful off the top of my head, but none to describe these different loves. 

I also spoke with Jane. She had gotten a job and was saving up money to move away from her mother. I hope she can find a man (if she wants one) and a life on her own terms. 

I also talked with Gillian and saw Eliza, the ones who walked with us from their old village. They seem well-established, with Gillian doing laundry for the town. She seems happier, more satisfied. Eliza was sweet and remembered me and I gave her the cards to learn. I’m glad they’re doing alright. 

 

19 December 1621

I talked with Em today, the woman who wanted to study the natural sciences at university. I still love sharing these dreams with women I talk to. It’s such a beautiful thing, a dream. I’m glad to have a few. 

I also saw Florence, the other one who moved. She’s been sewing for the village, and growing a garden like she mentioned. She told me she was feeling better, less ill, and I wonder how much of feeling ill was being ill and how much was incessant worry and stress about her life. 

I hope she does well. She’s so kind and good, and I think in another life she would be at the top of the world. 

 

21 December 1621

I talked to Meriall today, from our second-ever village. She’s the one whose family died in a fire. I wish I could’ve taught her to read. I’ve been leaving the cards behind so those women can learn, too. I hope so badly they can learn even a few words, even just their own name. It means so much. 

 

22 December 1621

Tomorrow we will be home. I saw Maude today, and Helen, and I talked some with Daniel too. I left them the cards, and I’ll make more when I’m home for these few weeks. I just hope that in the end, they learn. I think learning is just what people were made for. Having spent my whole life around them, I think that every human being is made to learn, and to never truly be sated when it comes to curiosity. 

These are the things that matter to us--curiosity, learning, discovery, exploration, spirit. I don’t believe we’ll ever be done with them. 

 

23 December 1621

We’re home! Simonn immediately went to see his family and I just went to my room and got out our winter blankets and fell asleep, because we have been traveling nonstop for twenty days. 

When I woke up, it was dark--about nine. I went downstairs for some tea before I went back to bed and Simonn was sitting there with two cups. 

“I figured you’d want some when you woke up.” 

“How long have you been home?”

“An hour or so. You seemed pretty exhausted.”

“Aren’t you? We’ve been traveling for twenty days.” 

“I’m exhausted. I just really wanted to see my siblings. And talk to you some--we’ve hardly spoken.” 

I smiled, remembering that he is my best friend and he’s really kind, deep down. So we sat there with tea and chatted about nothing until it was too late and we both went to bed. 

 

24 December 1621

It feels so weird, sleeping alone. My love isn’t there to snuggle against when I have nightmares, and Simonn and Dolora aren’t breathing quietly nearby. 

It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m kind of excited for the festival tomorrow. I miss my friends here. This town is still the place I have felt safest, and a place I think I have been happy. There was joy when I kissed my love for the first time, married him, held my baby boy. And I have always had fun at the festival. 

 

25 December 1621

It was such terrific fun! There was dancing and music like always, and I was with people I hold dear. I danced with Simonn, a little, but mostly Patrik because Simonn was dancing with Hannah. Patrik doesn’t really understand why we’re doing this, still, but he at least doesn’t bother me about it. 

After the dancing, I went with Simonn back to his family home and ate Christmas dinner with Richard and Thomas and Robert and his uncle (who is still a bit of a stick-in-the-mud). I know I’m not really part of their family, but they’re familiar with me. Richard’s going to get married soon--he’s twenty, and he’s been talking to a girl named Grace in the village. She’s about as poor as he is, but he’s going to keep up his farmhand work until he can get his own little plot of land for his own little farm. Thomas, ever the intellectual, is eighteen now and he has an apprenticeship with the cooper. And Robert is still a bit aimless. He’s still got some time. 

The food was delicious, because Simonn and their mother taught them to cook. For once I didn’t cook my Christmas dinner, because as Thomas said, “You’re our guest!” I think his brothers still see me as significantly older than them, even though they’re practically adults, too. I’m their brother’s friend, a sort of hybrid adult figure like Simonn always has been. 

It was a lovely dinner, and when Simonn and I walked home and had our cup of tea together like always (with my St. John’s wort), and though we didn’t have presents, I think we both knew at that moment that (silly as it sounds) there is no greater treasure than the love of another person, and no greater response than to love them in return. 

 

27 December 1621

I talked with Patrik today. We had tea together in my kitchen and he told me how he’s been, what he’s been doing (studying mostly), all that. I told him what I’ve been doing, and I tried once more to explain to him what this means to me. 

“I just think everyone deserves to have a say in the laws they live by, and to be read and write.”

“But people are satisfied with their lives. Why do you stir up trouble?”

“People don’t know there’s anything besides this. And we only know because of Dolora.” 

“Can’t you let well enough alone?” 

“No,” I say. “Because it’s not well enough. It’s not enough to keep so many people in poverty and ignorance when there is a world of knowledge out there, and plenty enough to go around.” 

Patrik sighed. “I don’t understand why you would abandon your life here for that dangerous one you lead.” 

“I was happy here. But I guess I just can’t let well enough alone.” 

I can’t always tell if he doesn’t understand why we need to change things or if he just worries about me. I forget very easily that he worries about me. 

 

29 December 1621

I think we’re staying until after New Years’. I’ve been talking with Neolla and Mariek, who updated me on everything to do with Candas and her crowd. Apparently, she’s going to try to persuade Grantt and Orvill to join us. I am happy about that in the abstract sense, but they still both scare me a little. Either way, it’s good to have some palace support on our side. 

Well, I suppose I’ve already thrown away the rest of my sense of safety. 

 

30 December 1621

Hannah was over for dinner today, and the three of us sat around the table and ate together and it felt warm and safe, like my old life. All that was missing was my love and my real mother. But I felt happy and comfortable, and I felt safe again. 

Speaking of, I got a letter back from Sigmun today. I told him not to write back until I was home so I could be sure I’d get it. Today I got a long, sweet letter full of love and affection and how much he misses me. He told me how much he wants to kiss me, how much he wants to hold me, how much he wants just to see me. And I miss him right back, my best friend and husband. I’ll miss him until I see him again. 

 

31 December 1621

Tomorrow is New Years’! I’m excited to see a new year, as our work continues and our word spreads. People do speak across towns, despite how rare it is, and I think our word is spreading. I hope so, anyways!

Andrew is here and Simonn and Andrew and I are planning to stay up until midnight to welcome in 1622. I don’t think I have any resolutions this year, but I have wishes. I wish for our word to spread, I wish for us to succeed, I wish for happiness for my whole family, I wish for happiness for everyone we speak to. 

I think I wish for the world to be happy. Not for everyone to be constantly joyful and cheerful all the time, because being sad and angry and all those other negative emotions is part of life and, I believe, feeling them an important part of being an adult emotionally, but for people to generally say, “Yes, I am happy.”

As I think I am, these days.


	57. Blizzard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Dianna and Simonn trek home, Mother Nature acts up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap I had no idea it had been so long since I posted! I traveled across 7 timezones to visit family and then since I got back I've been prepping to start college so I guess I just lost track of time. Sorry, and thanks for sticking with me!

1 January 1622

Happy New Years’! Simonn and I leave tomorrow, but today we just sat at home with tea while a snowstorm blew around us. We talked about things--light things like books we read or which teas we like, and heavier things like his nightmares and my worries. 

I’m excited to see my love again. I’m also excited to see Dolora--she means so much to me. It’ll be so nice just to see my family again--just to touch them. I know it’s not “pure” or what have you, but I like touch. I like hugging Simonn and Dolora and I like doing other things with Sigmun (including just kissing). 

I’ll see them soon. 

 

2 January 1622

We left today. We’re not going to stop in the towns on the way back--we’re just going to travel. Since we can take a more direct route, it’ll be only eighteen days. We’re also going to travel a little slower, because we were both exhausted when we got home last time. 

We’ll be back with them soon enough. 

 

4 January 1622

We brought a tent this time, and it feels a little safer when I sleep in the tent with Simonn breathing next to me. It’s kind of nice just to know there is someone there, and that there is something between me and the rest of the world. 

I’m having nightmares, but that might be the snow. 

 

5 January 1622

We have snowshoes of course, but it’s still hard to walk through the snow. I don’t often wear pants but that’s what I’ve been wearing lately because I can’t walk in skirts. December’s never as snowy as January but this time the snow is just terrible. 

 

7 January 1622

Last night I was reading with a candle when Simonn sat straight up and said, “Holy--I--Dianna?”

“I’m right here.” 

“I--I had a dream.”

“A future nightmare?”

“No. I don’t think so. I just had a bad dream.” 

I nodded and said, “I know all about bad dreams.”

He smiled weakly and I hugged him for a long time, until we both fell asleep again. 

 

8 January 1622

We get closer to Sigmun and Dolora with every step we take, and it gives me hope and strength to keep walking towards them through this snow. My muscles ache and somehow the sadness feels…heavier, I guess. It usually feels like a weight in my mind and right now that weight feels especially heavy. 

Maybe it’s the cold. Maybe I’m just tired. 

 

10 January 1622

Ten days to home. Technically we’re leaving home, but I really believe that wherever my family is becomes my home. So when we see them, we’ll all be home again. 

The snow’s been getting worse. Blizzards frighten me a little--they always have--and I wish I was with Sigmun right now because he’s afraid of storms and I want to be able to comfort him. I hope he’s alright. I hope Dolora’s alright, too, but I know she’s not afraid of storms. Sigmun is petrified of them. 

I’m alright, in my mind (except my usual melancholy). I just hate being away from my family. 

 

11 January 1622

More travel. We’re just walking through empty fields with our packs, not talking much. We must look almost spectral to anyone watching--two lone figures, not stopping or speaking, marching steadily through the fields. It must be an odd sight. 

 

12 January 1622

I only have one pair of pants, and they’re getting quite dirty, but I can’t travel like this in skirts. I don’t like wearing pants much--it’s too confining. I like wearing my skirts. (I’m not too fond of my bodice sometimes, but that’s not important.) It’s not like we can stop to do laundry. That would be so much work--stopping, getting a washboard and basin, starting a fire to melt snow, getting soap…too much. 

It’s fine. I don’t mind much. 

 

14 January 1622

Right now Simonn and I are huddled in our tent, wrapped in all our blankets, because there is a huge blizzard outside and we can’t leave. We can’t see enough to move--we can’t even look for a village to shelter in. I’m…I’m truly afraid. I’m shivering because we can’t build a fire, despite all the firewood we’ve been carrying. But all the preserved food we bought in our village should last us through the storm, until we can get to the next town. 

I hope so. 

 

15 January 1622

The blizzard is still blowing. Simonn and I have been confined to our tent for the whole day, and night is beginning to fall (I think). I’m afraid and I’m just glad I’m not alone, because I would not be sane without Simonn here next to me. We’re just holding each other, wrapped in blankets for warmth. 

Whatever Dolora did to this tent to keep out water is working extremely well. Thank heaven. 

 

16 January 1622

I think the blizzard was a little less intense today. It’s hard to tell, but I think the wind blew a bit softer. Simonn and I still couldn’t leave the tent. We’ve been sleeping and eating and mostly not talking, just waiting for the snow to stop. 

We talk a little, but we mostly just sit and wait. 

 

17 January 1622

Today we could leave the tent, but it wasn’t enough of a letup to travel. We need to get to another town and get food and refuge. Neither of us have been sleeping much. We need a kind preacher to take mercy on us and let us sleep in his church. 

We’ll be out soon. We each just took turns walking around the tent today, stretching our legs. 

 

18 January 1622

We could walk further today, but we couldn’t see any villages nearby. But the storm is slowly passing and I think before long we’ll be alright. 

 

19 January 1622

Today we packed up and traveled until we reached a village, where Simonn promptly collapsed on the steps of the church. The minister, luckily, was inside the church and let us in. 

“We’ve been in the woods for five days,” I said. Simonn wasn’t unconscious, but he was weak. He’s skinny as a stick and so I assume he just doesn’t have the natural padding I do. “I’m sorry to ask, but we need food, and if we could just stay here for a night or two…”

“Of course,” he said. “Let me see what my wife can cook up.” 

“Thank you so much,” I said. 

“Would you and your husband like a bed somewhere?”

“Oh, he’s not my husband. That’s who we’re traveling to meet. If there’s a bed, he can have it. I’ll sleep on a pew.” 

“We do have one spare bed,” he said. 

“Hey, Simmie, you alright?”

He looked right at me and said, “Dianna. I will not let you sleep on a pew while I sleep on a nice bed.” 

“You just collapsed on the church steps--I won’t make you sleep on a pew.”

“Well…you had a kid.”

“Yeah, years ago!”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, but tomorrow you get the bed.”

“Alright.” 

So we ate with the preacher and his wife, and I’m about to sleep in the church on a pew. I feel safe here. Churches always feel that way to me. I’m not sure where I stand religiously, but I feel safe in churches. 

 

20 January 1622

One more night in this village and then we’ll move on. With the deviation we’ve taken, Simonn and I worked out we’ll get to the village they’re in on the 29th. We sent a letter ahead, so hopefully Sigmun and Dolora won’t worry too much. 

 

21 January 1622

After some good hot meals and a night on a nice bed, I feel so much better and ready to finish our journey. We bought some food in the village for the rest of the trip and even had a chance to wash my pair of pants. We’re on the road now, both feeling better. I think we’re also more chatty, but maybe that’s because we’re getting closer. 

 

23 January 1622

More travel, and we’re getting so close. We haven’t seen or passed through any villages, and I don’t mind. I’d rather just get there. 

 

25 January 1622

There was more snow today, but it wasn’t really a blizzard. We just pushed through it and slept close to each other, so we could hear each other’s breath and share some body heat in the cold weather. 

 

26 January 1622

I actually went hunting today and got a squirrel, which we were able to cook into a sort of stew. It’s quite good, actually, and feels very filling. It’s nice having a hot meal once in a while, especially in cold weather. 

 

28 January 1622

We’ll be back to them tomorrow afternoon, give or take. We’re so close. 

 

29 January 1622

When we got to camp today, Sigmun threw his arms around me and before I knew what was happening I was lying in snow with my love’s face hiding in my hair, saying, “I was so worried!” 

He stood up and immediately tackled Simonn much the same way, except Simonn’s much taller then I and was expecting it so he didn’t fall over. 

“I was so worried about you guys!” he said again, and he hugged both of us close. “Mama said you were fine but with that blizzard…I’ve never been so relieved to get a letter from you.” 

“I love you,” I said. 

“I love you too,” he said back. 

We three just stood there for a long time, until Dolora walked by and said, “Oh my goodness,” and hugged us, too. 

Sigmun cooked for us and I changed my clothes because Dolora insisted on mending my pants. It felt nice to be back in my skirts. It was so comforting to be home. I truly would like to go out in the woods with Sigmun, because it’s been a while and, though I love him, I want him as well. But it’s too cold for that, so I’ll satisfy myself with kisses and sleeping next to him until it’s warmer or we can find a place to stay. 

The food was delicious, and I can’t wait to go to sleep. I’m so tired. 

 

30 January 1622

I felt so warm last night cuddled up to my love, and it felt so incredibly safe to be back with my whole family together. Dolora and Simonn both fell asleep earlier and so Sigmun and I just kissed for…maybe not hours, but a long time. It felt wonderful. 

I didn’t do any work today, and Sigmun told Simonn and I he would feel better if we rested for one more day. 

 

31 January 1622

Today we started working again. I took over lessons from Dolora in the church and once again I felt that wonderful feeling of teaching someone the most long lasting skill, the one that leaves its mark: how to read and write. How to tell the world that once, we were here.


	58. Voices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suspicion mounts as Sigmun begins to hear things no one else does and guards seem to be around every corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this is really late but I do have a good reason this time: I just started college! I have much more free time now than I have ever had before so I hope to keep at least sort of on schedule now that I'm started, but we'll see how that works out. Thanks for sticking with me!

2 February 1622

More lessons today. It’s better in the church, but it means we have to walk from camp to the church every day. I really hope the next town lets us sleep in the church. I don’t care if it’s on the floor, if it’s in the church. 

I’ve been chatting with a woman named Isabelle, and I love talking to her about sewing. Obviously most people I know sew, but she and I like to talk about technique--something I picked up from my job. I tend to baste pretty loosely, and believe it or not I had an interesting conversation about which way to baste is better. 

I think I actually like sewing, now that no one’s making me do it. 

 

4 February 1622

I may like sewing and talking about it with Isabelle, but I am infinitely grateful that Sigmun does all the knitting. I don’t like knitting. It just makes me irate, I don’t know why. 

Also, Sigmun knits these cute little bobbles on top of my hats because he knows I think they’re cute. 

 

5 February 1622

It’s odd having just shown up halfway through our time here, but at least I have some time to meet people in this town--unlike the last time Simonn and I traveled. And I like Isabelle. We get along. 

 

7 February 1622

We leave tomorrow and I’m looking forward to doing this in a new town. I remember when I could hardly sleep for fear of what would happen in each town. But now I’m just excited, because I know that what I’m doing matters. And I don’t think I’ll ever be scared again if I have my family with me. 

 

9 February 1622

Simonn had a nightmare last night, but not like his normal future-nightmare. It reminded me more of the nightmares right before Isabella and his parents died. 

I was sitting next to him by the fire, wrapped in my coats and in some blankets, and he said, “Dianna, this is it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, no one’s really tried to stop us before now, right?”

“Except the townspeople.”

“Okay, yeah. Various preachers and townspeople have tried to tell us we’re wrong or something, but no one’s…tried to hurt us, you know? No one’s been a real, true danger to us or to our safety, or our secrecy.” 

“Yeah, I see what you mean.” 

“Well, that’s about to change.”

“Someone’s going to attack us?”

“I don’t know. But…I think the last town we were in was the last safe town for a while.” 

“So we’re not going to be able to visit home again.”

“I think maybe once more. But yeah, it’ll be a while.” 

“We can write letters.” 

“I know we can. But it’s not the same.”

“Of course not,” I said. I rested my head on his shoulder and he rested his head against mine and we just sat there for a long time, until I heard his breath deepen and lengthen and I woke him up so we wouldn’t freeze to death in the cold. 

 

10 February 1622

We’re staying in the church this time, thank heaven. It’s at least a little warmer. 

I don’t really know if this is what Simonn’s talking about, but today I thought I say some guards in town. I hate seeing guards. I wonder…there’s no way anyone but Candas and Orvill and Grantt could know what seeing palace guards does to me. Could there? I didn’t report it to anyone, and even if I did, I would’ve used my real name, which I don’t here. 

Maybe they’re just catching up to us. Maybe they’re finally understanding that we might actually be a threat. I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse. 

 

11 February 1622

I started reading lessons today in the church, and after teaching a smaller group than usual one woman named Penelope mentioned that she’d never seen guards in their town before. 

“I’m sorry, it’s probably our fault.” 

“Your fault?”

“I think the king sees Signless and Psiioniic and Dolorosa and I as a threat. So he’s sending guards after us.” 

“Well, your fault or otherwise, I don’t think they’d ever hurt us. They’re just guards.” 

I didn’t want to tell her about everything that happened, so I just, “You’re probably right. But best keep an eye out--men like that don’t always know what courtesy is.” Which is a very gentle way of putting it, all things considered, so I give myself some credit for restraint. 

“They’ve seemed civil so far.”

“Maybe they are, but maybe they’re just good at acting.” 

She frowned a little and said, “It’s quite sad to think everyone you meet might just be acting.”

“Not everyone. Just the guards.”

“How come?”

“There were guards in my hometown who were…less than kind to us.” 

She frowned. “Palace guards?”

“I don’t live far from the palace. So there were guards in my town more often than not.” 

She nodded. “I see.”

“What say we get back to reading?” I said, and luckily she didn’t press the issue. It hurts to talk about. 

Sigmun noticed I was tired after lessons and so tonight he just cuddled me until he was asleep. I think he intended to stay up until I was asleep, but he’s exhausted too. So I slipped away to write, as I do. I’m not sure he always notices. 

 

13 February 1622

I wish I could say the ground was thawing, but that’s not true. It’s still freezing. I swear it gets colder each winter, though I suppose I could be wrong--I am only human. I’m no farmer, so it doesn’t matter much to me. But it is important for most people, because heaven knows most of the world farms, and right now it’s my job to care about everyone. 

Except the royals. I’m sure they’re getting along just fine, no matter if the ground freezes or thaws. 

 

14 February 1622

More lessons today. My love’s been looking more stressed and tired than usual, and he asked me to talk tonight in Russian. He’ll do French if he doesn’t want us to be heard, but Russian means he’s truly terrified of being overheard. 

I’m only a little nervous, I think. 

 

15 February 1622

I didn’t write last night, but I need to write about this. 

Sigmun was sitting up in the sanctuary, reading one of their Bibles, when I joined him. 

“What’s wrong, love?”

“You…you’ve had melancholy for a long time, right?”

“Years.” 

“Do you ever…” He swallowed. “Sorry. Do you ever…hear things that aren’t there?” 

“No,” I said. 

“Oh.”

A long silence. “Do you?” I asked. 

He nodded. “I…I hear voices. And I don’t know where they’re coming from, but they’re so cruel and they don’t leave me alone…” He buried his face in his hands and I reached out to touch his shoulder. 

“My love,” I said. “My love, there’s no one after you. I promise. No one’s trying to hurt you.”

“People are after us. People do want to hurt us.”

“I know, but we’re safe from them. They’re not in your head.” 

“Dianna, we’re not safe!” 

“No,” I said. “We’re not. But we knew that, didn’t we?” 

“We did,” he says. “I always knew this wouldn’t be safe. But I…I hate being able to hear them all the time. I hate it.” 

“They’re not there, my love. They’re in your head.”

“Your melancholy is real,” he said reproachfully. “That’s in your head.” 

“I--you’re right. I’m sorry,” I said. “Either way, my love, I’m here for you. And the voices in your head--they’re just trying to hurt you. They’re not telling you the truth.” 

“I know that,” he said. “But I can’t help but be scared.”

“I know,” I said. “I understand.” 

He nodded, and we sat there in the pews looking up at the altar and the stained-glass window for hours, until the light started to filter through the glass and his lovely eyes. For a moment, when the sun was at the angle just right, I saw his eyes flash red like they did when we were children and we played until the sun went down. 

 

17 February 1622

More lessons today, as usual. I know Sigmun’s hearing his voices, even if he doesn’t talk about them. Sometimes his eyes go unfocused and he turns his head like he’s listening to someone else, and I know he’s hearing someone who’s not there. I don’t know what to do when he does that. When my melancholy is hard, I drink more of my tea and talk to my family later, when we’re alone (sort of, anyways). I don’t know what to do with him hearing voices that aren’t there. 

The women I’m teaching are so wonderful to talk to. Not about my private concerns, but about lighthearted things and our ideals and the ways we want to change things. And I love hearing their stories. I call myself Disciple, and I suppose I really just like to listen to everyone. 

 

18 February 1622

Sigmun’s been sleeping early like he does, so when I heard rustling in the sanctuary last night I knew it was Simonn. 

“Simonn, what’s wrong?”

“You tell me.”

“What?”

“Sigmun’s acting different. I know he told you something, what is it?”

“It’s his to tell.”

“We don’t keep secrets from each other!”

“It’s not my secret to keep or tell!” 

“I know something’s wrong! Why won’t you tell me?”

“Because it’s not mine to tell! How would you feel if I told everyone how your parents thought you were a witch when you were born? Or that you have an illegitimate daughter?” 

“I--how dare you! I wouldn’t go around telling people about Luke or your melancholy!” 

“And I won’t tell you what’s his to tell!”

“It’s different for us--we’re best friends!” 

“Not that different.” 

“You just want to have some little secret between just the two of you, so you can leave me out!”

“How old are you? We’re not children! I don’t like to keep things from you! Just ask him yourself!” 

I heard footsteps and we both turned to see Sigmun walking into the sanctuary. “What’s going on?” Sigmun asked, rubbing his eyes. 

“Nothing,” I said. 

He looked between the two of us and then said, “If there’s anything I can do…” 

Simonn and I were glaring daggers at each other still and I said, “You ask him.” 

“Ask me what?”

“Simonn wants to know what’s wrong.” 

“Do you mean…?” He tilted his head sideways and gave me a look. “Simonn, I wanted to tell you, but you’re never alone! Let me tell you now, please. Sit down. You, too, Dianna.” 

We both sat down, and I think it’s because we were both feeling ashamed of ourselves for fighting. 

“Simonn. I’ve been…hearing voices. That aren’t there. They’re cruel and mean and vicious and…I can’t stop hearing them. I told Dianna because she came to find me. You’re never alone when I’m awake, but I did want to tell you.” 

Simonn frowned. 

“Why don’t you tell me what’s bothering you?” Sigmun asked. 

“I’m fine.” 

I didn’t say anything, because it’s not my secret to tell. 

“I know you’re not, but I won’t press,” he said. “Tell me whenever you like. I’m going back to bed.” He kissed me gently, touched Simonn’s shoulder, and left. 

“I’m sorry,” Simonn said. “I--you were right not to tell me.”

“It’s alright,” I said. “I know why you wanted to know, and it’s okay.” 

He sighed. “This is hard.” 

“What is?” 

“Being away from home. Dealing in human misery. Trying to make change, and knowing that we aren’t going to win.” 

“It is hard. There are times when I want to quit and go home and go back to sleeping in my own bed with my family close by and my baby in his cradle. But…we’re doing good work. And no matter what, we will always have each other.” 

He nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I think we will.” 

“You don’t.”

“I know we won’t have each other forever--physically. I also know that we will always have each other in our hearts, ridiculous as it sounds.” 

“It doesn’t sound ridiculous. I know that even if you’re right and we do fail, I’ll always hold you all dear.” 

“I hope it’s that easy.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I don’t want to see you get hurt. And I know that it’s going to hurt you when…when this all ends.” 

“I appreciate it. But I can handle it. I’ll survive.” 

He sighed. “I hope so.”

“I’m going to sleep, Simmie. I’m exhausted.” 

“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to stay up. Sleep well, alright?”

“I will. Sweet dreams.”

He cracked a smile. “Sweet dreams, Deedee.” 

As if it’s something any of us can say anymore. 

 

20 February 1622

Today’s our last day here. I said my goodbyes to Kelly and Sarah (it still feels odd to address adults by their first names, even though I am an adult--I’m twenty-seven!). I hope we can find something for Sigmun, because I know it’s bothering him, even if he doesn’t talk about it much. 

I tend to find Simonn these nights sitting up in the sanctuary with his old Principia in one hand and a Bible in the other. I don’t know which he’s having a crisis of faith about. 

 

22 February 1622

Simonn was up last night and I went to sit with him, and he told me something surprising. 

“I think I have an idea.”

“About?”

“About his voices.” 

“What is it?”

“I remember hearing about a book that said that…it’s not demons or whatever. It’s just natural. Like your melancholy.” 

I felt a shiver of relief through my whole body, because I know that if anyone else found out they’d put him to death--even if we weren’t starting a rebellion. “What book?”

“That’s the trouble. I can’t remember. I’m not even sure it was English.” 

“I’ll find it, then. Do you remember anything about it?”

“I think the writer was Weyer.” 

“German. I can find something in German.” 

“Won’t it raise questions? Anyways, how exactly do you plan to get to a library?” 

“When we go to the city to talk to people there, I’ll go out at night to the university library. I’ll dress up as a matron or someone, and just find the book. I’m good at going unnoticed, you know.” 

“That seems insanely risky just to get a book.” 

“Reading that book about melancholy was the best feeling in the world. Just knowing that it’s real means the world.” After a moment, I said, “You should read it.”

“Read what?”

“The book on melancholy.”

“I’m doing fine, Deedee.” 

“You’re not. You can’t tell me about how you know grief, and how much it hurts to see those you love die, and then pretend that you’re fine.” 

He glared at me, closed Principia and the Bible (my Bible, actually), and said, “Fine.”

I got the book from where I keep it with my things and handed it to him. “But read it tomorrow. Get some sleep tonight.” 

He shot me a look.

“I’ll make you some of my tea.” 

“I like chamomile.”

“My tea has my medicine, for the melancholy.” 

“Fine.” 

I put on the kettle and made two cups of my tea, and then we both went to bed. 

I hope he reads the book. I really think he and I have some of the same things wrong with our heads. (If “wrong” is the right word to use.) 

 

23 February 1622

We asked the priest today if we could stay in his church, and he said we could, and he invited us to dinner. He’s a young fellow, perhaps younger than I am, and he told us to just call him Henry. 

“I was just assigned this town. May I ask who you all are?”

We gave him our names--our fake ones, of course--and he offered to cook us dinner. 

“You all must be tired from traveling.”

“Not so much,” I said. “We’ve built up some stamina from traveling all the time.”

“All the time?”

“We’ve been traveling for almost a year now,” Sigmun said. 

“My goodness,” Henry said. “You must care very much about something.”

“We care very much about our cause,” Sigmun said. “Fairness and equality for all people.” 

“It sounds like a wonderful idea.”

“We want to make a world where people support each other and everyone has a fair shake,” I said. “It’s important to us.”

“You are doing God’s work, then,” he said seriously. 

“Thank you, Henry,” Dolora said. “We’ll take care of the dishes.”

“But you are guests in this place.” 

“We’re here to help,” she said, and nodded at us three. It feels odd to talk to people this way, in a group, because it makes me feel like we’re one mind. I know we’re presenting a unified front and also these are things we all believe, but it’s still odd. 

Anyways, he showed us to two guest rooms, presumably because the house assumes a few priests or a family with children, and we decided that Sigmun and I would share one and Simonn and Dolora the other (it had two beds--a room for two children in the nice house of a priest). 

I’m glad to share a room with my love again. We’ll get some long-awaited privacy, I think. 

 

24 February 1622

I do not consider myself to be out of shape but I was tired and a little sore when I woke up this morning. I don’t mind, really--it was a good night and we’ve been waiting for months. Anyways, my love kissed my neck and told me I was the most wonderful person in the world, and he loved me to pieces. 

“I love you, too.” 

“You’re just saying that because you like my body,” he teased. 

“You are too!” 

“I’m kidding,” he said, kissing the tip of his nose. “I love you very much. I would love you if I could never touch you again. I would love you if I could never see you again.” 

“I would love you if I could never hear you again. Or if I could never talk to you again.” 

“I know you would.” 

“And I know you would.” 

He kissed me again. “We should get up, you know.”

“I know. But we could also stay here. And you could start kissing me again.” 

“Mm, we could.” 

But we had work to do, so he just kissed me and then we got up and started the day. I’ve missed sleeping in a bed with him. It’s so nice. 

Promoted lessons today. I hope people show up--I do like teaching. And teaching reading and writing makes me happy. 

 

25 February 1622

People did show up for lessons today, luckily. Henry watched from the back for the most part, and he seemed to be interested. 

After the lesson, he had some questions. 

“What do you expect to teach them in two weeks?”

“The most basic skills so they can help each other and keep learning.” 

“But you won’t be able to help after you leave.”

“Henry, my friend, that’s your job.”

He looked stunned. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the most powerful person in this town. If you want to help, it’s your job to keep teaching.” 

“What will I teach them?”

“What you know.”

“I have only studied the Bible.”

“Don’t you think people should know what they believe in?” 

He looked at the Bible in his hands and said, “Yes, I suppose they should.”

“Henry, I don’t want to take over your church. This is your town, and we’re only passing through. But I can’t imagine not being able to read and write, and I can’t imagine believing without knowing what I believe in.” 

“I think I feel the same way,” he said contemplatively. 

“I admire how much you care about your town,” I said. “Especially since you’re new here.” 

“It’s my job.”

“I’ve met many a preacher who doesn’t even try.” 

“After all my studies, I have come to the conclusion that we are put on Earth to help and love each other. As a man of God, it is my job to show that love to everyone.” 

“I’m glad to hear that. I know many who come to the conclusion that some people deserve salvation more than others.” 

He frowned. “Indeed.” 

He’s a good man, I think. We could use more of them in the world. I just hope he doesn’t age like the priest in our hometown. 

 

27 February 1622

Lessons went well today. Afterwards I spoke with a woman named Rita who’d fallen on hard times when her husband was killed in a farm accident (a not uncommon fate, I’m finding). 

“I don’t know where I’ll work, or who I’ll marry. I’m already pregnant,” she said, touching her belly that way pregnant women (including myself) do. 

“I worked as a seamstress for a long time in my hometown. Maybe you could get work that way.” 

She shrugged. “I’m not a remarkable seamstress.”

“But a man who isn’t married probably can’t sew at all. And richer people don’t want to waste their time.” My mother hardly ever sewed her own clothes. 

“I’ll think about it.”

I nodded. “It’s worth it to have your own money.” 

“Aren’t you married?”

“I worked before I was married. After, too, but my family pooled our money for expenses.” 

“Doesn’t he own everything, though?”

“Legally, yes. But we respect each other. He doesn’t read my journal and I don’t go through his desk. And when money was an issue, we’d talk about it.” 

“You’re lucky,” she said. 

“I know,” I said. “Mine’s one of the few good ones. I love him to death.” 

“Maybe I’ll find myself a man like that.”

“I hope you do!”

She laughed a little, and it felt very warm and comfortable. 

 

28 February 1622

I’ve been sleeping very well lately, but last night when I was in town running errands I saw a guard. He wasn’t just standing there--he was scanning, looking for something. I pulled up my hood and ducked my head, because I knew he was looking for us--for me. I felt my heart pound and I barely made it home before I was completely panicking. 

“My love, what’s wrong?”

“I--I saw a guard--I was alone--it hurt--”

“I--I’ll go get Mama! Hold on, love, let me--”

“No, nothing--he didn’t even see me. I…got mixed up. I’m okay.”

“Okay, love.” But he sat by me and held me for a long time, anyways, because he knew I was still afraid. And once Simonn and Dolora were home, the four of us sat in the sanctuary and they three took turns reading aloud until dinner.


	59. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simonn's secret isn't so secret and the importance of self-care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time! Starting college is hard, and I've been focusing my energies on a term paper due in two weeks. But after that is break, so maybe for once I'll be on schedule. Thanks for sticking with me!

1 March 1622

I definitely saw more guards today, and it felt like they were watch us. I could feel their eyes on me as I walked through the market for food, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so afraid on our travels. Is the king starting to take notice, or is this what Simonn said--the beginning of the end? 

I’ll ask him tonight. 

 

2 March 1622

Of course Simonn was up last night, as he always is, and so I asked him about the guards. 

“It’s Candas.” 

“She’s just the heiress.” 

“So what? She’s the one telling the king about us. She’s the one setting the guards on us. I told you, we can’t trust her!”

“Simonn, would it kill you to not be a cynical stick-in-the-mud for five minutes?” 

“You know I’m right.” 

“I know you think you’re right. And I know that you’re terrified of your dreams. I think you might be making a connection where there isn’t one. Look, I’m not about to tell Candas all our secrets. I’m actively trying to stop Sigmun from doing just that. But I don’t think she’s out to get us.” 

“I hear her laugh in my dreams.” 

“How do you know it’s her? What about her mother or someone?” 

“I--I don’t know. I just know it. You know how you just know things in dreams--it’s like that.” 

“Simonn. I trust your dreams, and you know that. And I don’t trust Candas like Sigmun does. But I think it wouldn’t kill you to have a little trust.” 

“Except that it might kill him.” 

I felt my heart skip a beat. “Please don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s going to happen, and we both know it. We’re all going to be alone sooner than we want to.” 

“Stop it!” I said, shriller this time. 

“We need to handle this!” he said. “If you can’t handle all that, then why are you here?”

I’ve never felt angrier with Simonn before then. “I’m here to help people. If you know we’re a bunch of fools who are doomed to die, then why are you here?” 

“Because I want to help people too!”

“Then act like it! It’s not about us right now. I don’t want to lose him. I know it’s unavoidable but I’m not going to worry about that while he’s here with us. ‘I shall tell my soul, soul, eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow we die’. Do you want me to quote more Bible at you?”

“No thanks.” 

“Then would it kill you to be a little happy once in a while?” 

“You said yourself I might have melancholy.” 

“So do I, and I manage to avoid being an insufferable pessimist.”

I could see he was hurt and I felt…something, somehow, that was like guilt but worse. 

“I’m sorry, Simonn,” I said. “I didn’t mean that.” 

He was frowning and he was leaning back and forth, one foot to the other. “I know you didn’t,” he finally said. “Do you really think I’m insufferable?”

“No,” I said. “I think you’re stressed and worked up and scared.”

He glared at me. 

“I am too! I just…Simonn, I’m worried about you, alright?” 

“I’m fine.”

“Clearly you’re not. We’ve known each other since we were children--I know that you’re not doing fine.” 

He sighed, but it was almost a laugh. “How many times have we had this exact conversation, but from opposite sides?” 

I laughed with him. “I don’t know. Too many.” 

“Then you know what I’ll say.”

“And you know what I’ll say. And you know that I’m right.” 

“So what if I do? Isn’t it required that I resist your help for several years before listening to reason?”

“You’re mean.” 

“Sorry.”

“We both know I’m right. So write home once in a while, okay? Get some rest. Have some of my tea. And don’t worry right now about Candas. I’ll keep our secrets out of her hands.” 

Another sigh, and his shoulders slumped a little. “I’m worried about you, too, you know.” 

“I know.”

“I can’t help it. I couldn’t bear to lose any of you.”

“Simonn…”

“I know it’s inevitable. And I know that in my dreams, I’m not…I’m not sane. I’m in my own head in those dreams, and it’s…it’s not good. It’s worse than the screaming or the cold hands, because I know I can’t get away from it.” 

“It’s tremendously difficult to get away from your own head,” I said. “I think we all have some experience with that.” 

He nodded and leaned a little towards me, and I could tell he wanted a hug, even though he didn’t say it. “Hug?” I asked nonetheless, and he nodded. 

I think he’s going to be okay. If this ends, none of us will be okay ever again, but for right now I think we’re going to be fine. 

 

3 March 1622

We leave town tomorrow. I’m going to miss this place, of course, but I’ve gotten so used to this constant moving that I’m not sure I’ll be as sad as I have been before. 

 

5 March 1622

I can feel Sigmun drifting off every time I talk to him these days, hearing someone else saying things to him no one else can hear. I can’t explain how it feels, but I think what it comes down to is that I’m afraid to lose him and I don’t want to lose him to the voices in his head before I lose him to whatever haunts Simonn’s dreams. 

 

7 March 1622

He did one of his speeches yesterday and it was exactly as riveting as usual, except I’ve heard so many that I focused on other things--like whether or not he could hear those voices. He didn’t seem to be hearing any, though. He seemed to be really just talking. 

Maybe he’s getting better? I don’t think I really believe that, but I’d like to. 

 

9 March 1622

More reading and writing lessons today. I think I have a pretty solid curriculum going right now, because I want to teach as much as possible while confusing as few people as possible (ideally, none). I think I’m doing alright. I never went to school to be a teacher, but I’ve read books on the subject and I think Dolora was going to be a teacher before she was our town’s real doctor. 

I hope I’m doing right by everyone I teach. I’m always a little scared that I’m making things worse. 

 

10 March 1622

I asked him about hearing his voices when he speaks. 

“I…I can hear them, but what I’m saying is just so much more important than anything they’re saying in those moments. I never stop hearing them.” 

“Never? How do you sleep?”

“Poorly.”

“Wake me up if you need to, love.”

“I don’t want to bother you.”

“Why do we keep reversing old conversations?” I said, touching his cheek gently. “Don’t I wake you up when I have nightmares?”

“I--I suppose so.” 

“Please, my love. Wake me up if you can’t sleep. I’ll be there for you, like you were there for me. I still wake you up if I have nightmares.” 

“I know…”

“And if I’m not with you, I’m sitting up with Simonn, so just come find me, alright? I love you. I’m here for you.” 

He sighed. “Alright. I love you.”

“I love you too.” 

Between the two of us, I doubt we’ll be getting much sleep for a while. My nightmares are better, but I know they’ll never really go away. They’re almost a part of me now. I’m sure that sounds morbid and terrible, but I think having melancholy is just part of my life now. I’m handling it. 

 

12 March 1622

He woke me up last night. 

“Dianna? Love?”

“Hm? What’s going on?” 

“I can hear them. They’re…screaming. Angry. They say…they say you want to leave me.”

“Oh, my love…I would never. I love you with all my heart and I don’t want to leave you.” 

“I know,” he says. “But that’s what they tell me. They tell me terrible things…they tell me it’s my fault about Luke…that we’re being chased…that I’m dead and you’re only pretending that I’m still here…I know that sounds mad.” 

“I know all about feeling mad, love. It’s alright.” 

“I…I’m afraid, because they’re so convincing. What if someday…I believe them?” 

“Even if you do, my love, I’ll always be here for you. I promise I’ll be right here.”

“But how do I know if you’re real?”

“Because…you’ve known me your whole life. And I say I am.” 

He sighed and leaned his head on my shoulder. “You know I’ll always love you.” 

“I do know. And I’ll always love you.” 

“Even if someday I do believe the voices someday and I say I don’t…I will. I promise.”

I couldn’t help but shiver because all I could think about was Simonn’s dream and how close he feels it is, and I how I’m scared we won’t live long enough to find out if his voices are that convincing or not. 

“Love?”

“I’m alright,” I said. “But I don’t think anything could convince you to say you don’t love me.” 

“I hope not.” 

“If my mother couldn’t stop me getting out to see you, nothing can convince you to say you don’t love me.” 

“Alright…”

“Love, do you trust me?” 

“Of course.” 

“Then I promise you, we’re always going to be here for each other. I know you’ll always love me, and I will always love you. I don’t care what the hell happens. Even if we don’t want to be married anymore, you’ll always be my best friend.” 

He smiled weakly and kissed my cheek. “And you’ll always be mine. Although…for now, I am very happy to stay married to you.” 

“And I to you.” 

He sighed again, sounding tired. When I had nightmares every night, I remember how my love would just soothe me, tell me sweet things and promise we were safe. I think he might need much the same things right now. 

 

13 March 1622

Between Sigmun and Simonn and my nightmares, I haven’t been sleeping well lately. Of course, Dolora picked up on that, like she does, and of course she had me sit down and rest today instead of teaching. 

“Dolora, I’m fine.”

“My dear, I have raised you since you were seven. You know I know you.” 

“Even if I was tired--and I’m fine--I still need to teach.”

“I’ll teach today. Dear, we are all together here. We’re here to support each other. And you need to rest. I’m sure our other two will be back here soon to comfort you the way you comfort them.”

“What?”

“My goodness, dear, I can hear you when you wake up and walk around.”

“I--I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s my job to worry about you.” 

“I’m an adult, you know. And I can worry about you, too.” 

“My dear, I’m doing just fine.”

“You must be tired, too.” 

“I am, sometimes. But I find that growing up under the weight of my parents’ expectations has made me quite resilient to those of others.”

“Easier said than done.”

“Of course it is, dear. And my circumstances were different from yours. And I am tired as often as anyone else. But you have been up at all hours of the day and night, and it’s taking its toll. You need some sleep.” 

“I know. Thanks, Dolora.”

“Of course, dear. Now get some sleep and I’ll teach today.” 

“Do you need me to do any housework? Cooking or anything?”

“No. Sleep and read and rest up. I’m a doctor, Dianna dear.”

I smiled at her, and she left, and I slept for a long time and read. I suppose she’s right; running myself into the ground won’t help anybody. I can’t teach if I can’t keep my eyes open. 

 

15 March 1622

I taught yesterday and today, and after resting I feel much better. My love made his speech the thirteenth, but Dolora insisted she write it and I could work on my translations later. I normally do that part of my job on travel days, so I figure I’ll do it between the next two towns. I’ll do French this time; I like French. It’s a nice language to speak. 

 

16 March 1622

I finally asked Dolora today. 

“Dolora…”

“Yes, dear?”

“Have you and Simonn been talking lately?”

“Some. Why?” 

“I…has he told you anything…odd?”

“I know he’s been having nightmares. I know he thinks that something bad is going to happen--but he doesn’t say what. Why do you ask?”

“He’s just been acting odd lately.” 

“He has. So have we all.”

“Odder than anyone else.” 

“That’s true. Whatever is going to happen, I think he thinks it will happen to us.” She paused, and looked down at her tea. “He must think we’re going to fail.” 

“I…maybe he does.” 

“I’m sure he must. He’s never acted quite like this before--though before Luke was born…” 

“Do you believe him?” 

“I don’t think so,” she said. “I have faith in you, and in them. And in myself.” 

“So you think we’re going to succeed? We’re going to win?” 

“My dear, I am petrified that we won’t, but I believe, in my heart of hearts, that we can.” She tilted her head slightly and looked at me, all concerned like she does, and added, “Dianna dear, do you?” 

“Sometimes,” I say. “Sometimes…Sometimes I’m just scared.” 

“My dear…” she said, and she reached out to hug me. I hugged her back, and she said softly, “I will always love you--and we’re going to be okay, as long as we have each other. No matter what happens, we will always have each other.”

I couldn’t bear to tell her that if Simonn is right, we’re not going to have each other. We’re going to suffer alone. We’re going to be alone. 

 

17 March 1622

We leave tomorrow. But this time is different. Dolora told us that we’re going to stop this time, in the middle of the woods somewhere, and rest for a few days. We all jumped up to object, Sigmun most of all, but Dolora said, like she does--“I’m a doctor, my dears.” 

So we’ll rest, just the four of us, in the woods for a few days. We’ll set up a proper camp, with both our tents, and we’ll rest. 

That’s new. 

 

18 March 1622

We just set up camp, except now Sigmun and I have a tent, Dolora has a tent, and Simonn said he wants to sleep outside under the stars. Maybe it’s got to do with his nightmares. I went hunting, but only enough so that we could eat, and we had a hearty stew like Dolora makes, and it felt almost like being home again. Sigmun was laughing, and Simonn was joking, and Dolora was smiling, and I felt happy and safe again. 

It felt good to just be with my family. I know we won’t get time like this often, maybe even ever again. 

 

20 March 1622

As would be expected, Sigmun and I have been spending a lot of time alone together at night. It’s…it’s very nice, being with him. His hair is so soft and he has this way of just barely ghosting his fingertips over my skin that drives me mad. 

He’s sweet, too. Last night, when we were falling asleep, he kissed me soft and long and said, “My love, what could I ever say that would tell you how much I love you and how much you mean to me?” 

“Mm…kiss me like that again and I’ll know.” 

“If you say so…” he said, and he kissed me the same way again, and I could’ve melted right then and there. Instead I rested my head on his chest and let him stroke my hair until I fell asleep. 

Heaven knows I’m not out of shape, but I’m a little sore. It doesn’t bother me much, because it went away pretty quick when we were first married, and we aren’t traveling, either. 

But I don’t want to talk about that too much. It’s been so nice just stopping and resting here. Simonn hasn’t been up late, and Sigmun hasn’t been worried about his voices, and Dolora has been acting more relaxed than before. She’s always calm in demeanor, but rarely truly relaxed. 

We have to move on soon. But not for one more day. 

 

22 March 1622

We arrive in the next town tomorrow, after our brief respite in the woods. I’m feeling a lot more…ready, I suppose. I feel well-rested and ready to go out and teach. It’s more wearing than I realized to teach people how to read, and to start over from scratch every two weeks. 

 

23 March 1622

And so we begin. Our first day in town began with talking to the reverend, who was not keen on letting us sleep in his church, so we set up camp right outside the village. Dolora and Sigmun went into town to spread the word, and I went hunting, and Simonn cooked. A few people came to eat with us, and I felt the warmth of camaraderie. 

Sometimes I miss our hometown. I knew everyone there, and they all knew me. I didn’t like everyone there, and they didn’t all like me, and I know I said and did things that I shouldn’t have said or done, but it’s my home. It’s where I’m from. 

I wonder if I’ll ever go back. 

 

25 March 1622

I finished lessons today and started talking with a woman named Joanne, who wanted to know if I knew anything about gardening. 

“I suppose, a little. Dolorosa kept a garden in our hometown. Why?”

“Would you like to see my garden?”

“Of course.”

I followed her to her home, and then to her backyard, which was the largest garden I’ve ever seen. 

“I’ve been working on it since I was married,” she said. “So four years now. My eldest likes to help when she can.” 

“Can I meet her?”

“Sure. Jane, honey, come on out to meet the nice lady. What should I have her call you?”

“She can call me Disciple, I don’t mind.”

Jane toddled over to her mother and said, “Hi Mama. Hi missus.”

“This is Disciple, honey.”

“Hi Mrs. Disciple.” 

“Hello, Jane,” I said. “Is this your mama’s garden?”

“Uh-huh. But I get to help sometimes.” 

“And are you very good at that?”

She nods. “Mama says I’m the best!” 

“Can you show me what you do in the garden?”

She nodded and ran off to show us how she finds and pulls up weeds. 

“Are you going to teach her?” I asked Joanne. 

“Yes,” she said. “I want her to learn to read, too.”

“It’ll be easier since she’s younger,” I said. “I learned when I was seven.” 

“Really? Who taught you?”

“Dolorosa. She taught me most everything I know.” 

“She’s not your mother, though.”

“My mother-in-law. She’s Signless’s mother.” 

She nodded. “Signless is your husband?” 

“Indeed he is. I’m very lucky.” 

“Indeed. I love mine, but…he has his moments.” 

“Well, so does mine. He’s stubborn as all hell, and he snores sometimes--not to mention how terribly absent-minded he can be. But he’s only human--I’m sure I do things that irritate him.”

“I think mine’s a good man, when it comes down to it. But he has a temper sometimes, my goodness. He’s never hurt me, though, so I count myself lucky.”

“Insults can hurt worse than fists.”

“Oh, he doesn’t do any of that. He’ll just leave for a little while, go to the pub sometimes or just walk around the village.”

I nodded. “I’m glad to hear that he’s never hurt you.”

“Yes,” she said, looked at Jane, who was still hunting for weeds. “And I don’t think he will.” 

“I’m glad,” I said to her, and there was a sort of quiet understanding between us that for most women it’s not this way. I think we’re the lucky ones. 

 

26 March 1622

Simonn was up last night, but when I woke up, Sigmun did too.

“What’s wrong, love?” 

“Simonn’s awake.” 

“What?”

“Simonn’s up again. When he has nightmares, he’ll just sit up by the fire.”

“So…you’re going to sit with him?” 

“Yes.”

“Let me.” 

“My love, you need some rest.” 

“So do you.”

“If you’re sitting up with Simonn, and with me, then you must not be getting any sleep at all. I’ll sit up with Simonn tonight.”

“Sigmun, you can’t.” 

“Why not? He’s my best friend, too.”

“I--I need--it’s…it’s more difficult than it sounds.”

“Dianna?” he asked, very gently. “Are you…are you keeping things from me?” 

“No,” I lied, and it felt terrible to lie to him. “But with the melancholy…I think Simonn has it too. So it’s better if I go.” 

“Alright,” he said. “But…you know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I do tell you everything,” I said. “My love, it would hurt me to keep a secret from you.” It does hurt me to keep a secret from him. It hurts more than I want to say. 

“I trust you,” he said softly. Then, after a breath, “I’ll make you and him some tea.”

“Thanks, love,” I said. 

So I sat with Simonn and we drank our tea and after my love was asleep again, I heard again how we’re all going to die in some terrible way. It doesn’t frighten me quite so much anymore to hear him say it, so I suppose that’s good. 

 

27 March 1622

I told Simonn today how Sigmun knows that we’re keeping secrets and Dolora knows he think it’ll end badly. 

“Shit,” he cursed. 

“We can’t keep this from them forever.” 

“Why not?”

“Because they’re going to find out. We’re family, Simonn. It hurts me to keep secrets from Sigmun--from Dolora.” 

“We’re going to die before they find out.”

“What?”

“I think we can keep the secret until the end.”

“Should we?”

“Don’t you…do you think that they wouldn’t drive themselves mad trying to save us? Do you think they’ll just realize what we do, that there’s nothing we can do?” 

“You think that. I don’t. Maybe they’ll just decide you’re nuts and go on with their lives.”

“But probably not. They’re more likely to believe me and try to stop it.”

“Simonn, I cannot keep keeping secrets from Sigmun. He’s my best friend--I don’t keep any secrets from you!” 

“Please, Dianna,” he said, and his voice was suddenly threaded with the most genuine fear I’ve ever heard from him. “Please.”

“Why is this so important to you?”

“Because I couldn’t stand it. If they went mad…I couldn’t stand for it to be my fault.”

“We’re already mad. I have melancholy, Sigmun hears voices…”

“But it would be my fault.” 

I sighed. “Fine. I won’t tell them now. But…someday, we have to.”

“Someday,” he said. “Someday, we will.” 

Someday. 

28 March 1622

I saw guards in the village today. I remember them because…I saw them harassing this woman who couldn’t afford something-or-other, so I bought whatever it was for her and walked away with her. I was trembling so badly she practically had to hold me up, and by the time I got back to camp I could hardly walk, and my breath was too fast, and my heart was pounding, and Sigmun just held me until I could breathe again. 

 

31 March 1622

We’ve been so busy lately, teaching and preaching and healing, and all that, that I’ve hardly had time to write. I think Simonn’s been having fewer nightmares, and Sigmun’s voices haven’t seemed to have been bothering him so much. Maybe it’s better for us to keep busy, at least for a while. 

I’ll just keep busy. If I keep busy I don’t think I’ll have time to worry.


	60. Prophetic Nightmare Man Suffers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone's various problems get work and some more details of The Plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've taken to calling Simonn Prophetic Nightmare Man to some of my school friends. 
> 
> Also, this is very late. I am starting college and it's hard. Once I get the hang of it hopefully I can cut the update time a little.

2 April 1622

We leave tomorrow for the next town. I’ve been trying to ignore the toll all this travel is taking on my body, but I feel like my joints have aged twenty years since we left. My knees crack when I stand up in the morning and my back aches each morning. I sleep with my head on his chest like always, but these days I have to adjust more than usual so my neck doesn’t hurt. 

I’ll just take some of Dolora’s willow. I need to be ready to teach--I can’t have sore joints holding me back. 

 

4 April 1622

I’m so tired from travel today. I can’t really explain why, but I think sleeping on the ground is taking a toll on me. I haven’t been sleeping well. I should ask Dolora for some sleep medicines--I’m sure she knows some herbs. Or maybe I could just cuddle more with Sigmun--I haven’t been as much lately. 

I wonder if he minds. 

 

5 April 1622

A new town today. We spoke to the reverend, asked people to come to his speech tomorrow, and prepared for a group dinner tomorrow. I did a lot of hunting and Dolora started to prepare the meat. I also found some herbs and plants for stew, because what else can you make for dozens of people? 

Simonn and I are going to have to make another trip through the villages before this time next year, to spread the word about Sigmun’s plan. He says we’re going to gather as many people as we can and flood the city, trying not to hurt anyone but blocking things up as much as possible, to force the king and his people to acknowledge the regular people. He says by then Candas and her friends--Orvill and Grantt and everyone--will hopefully really be on our side and persuade the king to take us serious. Then he’s hoping to negotiate with the leverage of thousands of normal people for better rights and taxes. Then, when Candas takes power as queen, there will be more reforms. 

I think he’s insanely optimistic. There’s going to be a riot, and violence. Things are going to get burned down and people are going to die. I feel sick to my stomach thinking about it, but I’m not sure there’s another option for us. 

 

6 April 1622

I met a woman named Rosamond today. She’s as thin as Simonn is, but it doesn’t seem like that’s just how she is. While Simonn’s thin as a beanpole, his cheeks aren’t hollow and his lips aren’t too thin. Rosamond looked terribly thin in a sickly way. 

“Have something to eat,” I said, offering her some stew. 

“Thank you,” she said, and she finished the bowl in five minutes flat. 

“My goodness,” I said. “Have you been eating?”

She shook her head. “Our crops didn’t do so well this year. We didn’t eat much over the winter, and we’re running low on food now.” 

“Is there anything we can do for you?”

“Unless you can summon a good year from thin air, I don’t think so.”

I had a slightly insane idea, then. “How about I teach you to hunt?”

“I don’t have a bird or a bow. Certainly no gun.” 

“Take my bow. I can buy another. Or--no, I’ll buy a bow for you, and some arrows.” 

“I couldn’t accept it. I hardly know you.”

“Do you have children?”

She nodded. 

“They won’t last until harvest without food. Take it. I’ll teach you how to hunt and you won’t have to worry about a poor harvest again. Are you coming to reading and writing lessons tomorrow?”

She nodded.

“Stay after. Anyone else who wants to can. I fed my family this way over quite a few winters, including the one I had my child for.” 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she said.

“Don’t worry about it,” I told her. “I’m here to help people. It’s our entire purpose.” It’s why I left home, anyways. 

I suppose I’m now teaching reading, writing, and hunting. 

So be it. 

 

7 April 1622

Simonn’s been having terrible nightmares lately. Considering how my nightmares used to be, this is saying something. They always get worse around this time of year, and looking back at my journals I see that he always has one on April sixteenth. I don’t want that to mean anything, but I’m sure it does. I hope it’s not this April, because I’m not ready for this to end. Well, I’m not sure I’ll ever be ready, but…I don’t think I could handle it if it’s nine days from today. 

 

8 April 1622

The hunting has been going well, and it’s a weight off my shoulders that the women I teach will often contribute some of what they catch to the dinners we make for everyone. It’s tiring, hunting all day long! Especially after teaching. 

I don’t know how the women I teach have the time to show up, but I admire them for it. 

 

10 April 1622

Rosamond brought her eldest daughter to lessons today. Her name is Bridget and she’s twelve, and she caught on fast! I know children are easier to teach than adults, but I was still amazed how quickly she picked up some of the skills I was teaching. 

“I want her to know to hunt,” Rosamond said. “Then she won’t have to depend on anybody. Like you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t survive on my own,” I said. “My family is everything to me.” 

“Yes, but you don’t need to be married to survive,” she says. “I want her to have a life like that.” 

“If you want to leave your husband, we’re here for you.”

“Oh, no,” she said. “I actually quite like the fellow. But I don’t want her to have no choice.” 

“Of course,” I said. “I would never turn down a student, anyways.” 

Rosamond’s right. Women should be able to survive without being married. I’m lucky I never had that problem. 

 

12 April 1622

I’m quite fond of Bridget. She’s sharp as a tack and agile, not to mention eager to learn. I find there are quite a lot of children like her--hungry for knowledge, ready to learn. 

I think that when we tell the king what we want, we should tell him we want schools for everybody. I think everyone deserves to have the chance at an education. Sigmun says it’s in his dreams that everyone goes to school, and I think that’s the thing I’d like to see most. Everyone ought to be allowed to learn. 

 

13 April 1622

I had the strangest dream last night. In it, I was a bit older than I am now, and I was at a kitchen table I knew was mine, but it wasn’t our home. It was a new home, with a candle or something on the ceiling, and Sigmun was across from me, and there were four children with us around the table. I knew they were our children, but none of them looked anything like Luke. I knew I was some sort of teacher, a professor I think I called myself, and I taught people French and Russian. 

I think I had one of Sigmun’s future-dreams. It was so wonderful…I can’t even imagine going to university, much less teaching there! I hope some descendent of mine gets to live that sort of life. 

 

15 April 1622

I talked with Rosamond and Bridget today and told them that we have to move on, and I gave Rosamond the bow I bought in the market. “Practice makes perfect,” I said. “And I’ll be back with Psiioniic sometime soon.”

“Thank you so much,” she said. She already looks better--less thin and sickly, her cheeks less hollow than before. 

“Any time,” I said. “I’ll see you soon. Keep studying, Bridget. You’ll be able to read the Bible in no time.” It’s the only long book I can promise her. 

She smiled. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” I waved as I left, and I hope they’re alright. 

 

17 April 1622

I’ve never heard Simonn wake up screaming before last night, but I woke up last night to him screaming loud enough to wake the dead. I sat straight up and ran to his tent, and he was sitting up, breathing hard, drenched in sweat. 

“Simonn, what the hell?”

“I--I--I can’t see! I can’t see, Dianna…”

“Simonn, open your eyes.”

“No, no, no, I won’t be able to--it’ll bleed.”

I put aside how disturbing that was and said, “No, Simonn. I promise. Open your eyes.” 

He did, slowly, and blinked a couple times. 

“I’m seeing things.”

“No,” I say. “I’m real, I’m right here. You’ve known me since we were children--I’m real.” 

He touched my arm, gently, and said, “Was I dreaming?”

“You woke up screaming--you must have had a nightmare.” 

“I--yeah,” he said. “I had a nightmare. And I just woke up, right?”

I nod. 

“This is real,” he said aloud, taking a deep breath. “I was dreaming.”

“Yes,” I say. “Please, Simonn, you screamed loud enough to wake the dead--what happened?”

“Let me tell everyone else I’m alright. Then I’ll tell you.” 

“Alright.”

He went to Dolora and Sigmun and assured them he was alright, and then came back and sat with me by the fire. 

“It was the nightmare,” he said. “The usual one. Except…I…hell,” he said. “It was so bad this time. It was so bad, I thought it was real…you were all screaming and I couldn’t see, and my eyes were gone, and there were those cold, cold hands, and…I was so scared. I was…I was so, so scared.” He had tears in his eyes and he was trembling all over, and then he closed his eyes tight, like he was afraid to see. 

“I’m sorry,” I say. “That must be so terrible.”

“It is,” he says. “I…Dianna, I’m afraid.” He used my real name, and it just meant everything to me. 

“Truthfully, Simonn, I am too. But…we have time.” 

“Do we?”

“Yes. Even if it’s just until tomorrow, we have time.” 

“It has to be longer. I’m not…we’re not ready yet! We need more time! I have to--I have to see Han--Handmaid again, and our daughter, and my siblings--my brothers--and my uncle, and visit my family’s graves--and Luke and all our friends at home--we need more time!”

“We have time,” I said. “We’re going to have time for all that. I promise. We’ll visit home again and see everyone, and we--we’ll visit Luke, and all your family. We will have time.”

“You can’t know that.” 

“I can’t,” I agreed. “Simonn, tell me five things you like about yourself.” 

“What? Dianna, we’re not kids.” 

“Do it.” 

“Fine. Five things. Um…I’m smart. I’ve been doing well at talking to people. I love my family. Um…jeez, this is hard! I…I’m brave, I guess, for doing this. And I’m funny.” 

“Good,” I say. “See, you have reasons to be happy, and to love yourself.”

“Your turn.” 

“What?”

“Your turn. Five things you like about yourself.” 

“I’m not the one with nightmares right now.” 

“Yes you are.”

“Fine,” I said. “Five things. Um. I’m a good teacher. I love you all. I’ve been good with talking to people. I can speak all those languages. And…I left home. Even though I was scared.” 

He smiled a little and touched my hand. “I guess we’re both gonna be alright.” 

“Yeah,” I said. 

We sat for a long time by the fire before we went back to sleep, to be ready to start in a new village today. 

 

19 April 1622

Started lessons today as usual and then invited people to stay for a hunting lesson if they liked. Dolora definitely approves--I see it in her eyes when I drop off the meat--and I’ve seen how much Sigmun glows when I tell him about what I teach. He’s kind of a glowy person these days. He always seems cheerful and optimistic. 

He’s not fooling me, though. I see those circles under his eyes. I’ll ask him about it tonight. 

 

20 April 1622

I was right, of course. He’s my best friend and my husband. I can tell when he’s off. 

“I’ve been having those future-dreams…but bad ones. Bad things happening to us, and to people we love--here or in the dreams. They scare me.” He spoke…oddly, clipped, the way he does when those voices are loud. 

“Is there anything I can do for you, love?”

He shook his head. “I just wish I could sleep better.”

“Have some chamomile before you go bed,” I say. “Dolora gave me some tea when…back in March, in 1614. It helped me sleep.” 

“I don’t want to stop dreaming.”

“I don’t want you to stop dreaming. But I want you to be happy and healthy, too.” 

“As healthy as we can be, all things considered.”

“Indeed,” I agreed, laughing a little. 

“Do you want to go to the woods tonight?” he asked, hovering his lips just a hair away from mine. What a terrible tease he can be! 

“Yes,” I said. “It’s been a while.” 

“Mm, that it has been,” he mused. “It was nice having our own room.” 

“Indeed,” I say. “It was nice having our own bed.” 

He grinned and kissed me, and I kissed him right back. He’s very handsome. No wonder women in villages we visit always ask if he’s married. 

 

22 April 1622

I spoke with a woman named Den today. She’s the best hunter I’ve taught here, and a pretty good writer too. Her handwriting is already neater than mine, and I’ve been writing most of my life. 

She seems kind and intelligent, and I’m sure she’ll do well. A lot of the women I teach would do so well in the world Sigmun dreams about. 

 

23 April 1622

More lessons today, as usual. They’re going quite well. Den is certainly picking everything up quickly. 

 

24 April 1622

Today he made one of his big speeches, for the whole village. The reverend wasn’t too happy about it, but he allowed it. I spent the whole day hunting for food for dinner, and of course working on translating my love’s speech. I always start with French, because it’s the easiest, and go from there. 

 

26 April 1622

Simonn’s nightmares have been easing up a little, I think. It’s odd how they always come in cycles. Although, to be fair, I’m sure it has to do with the time of year. He has the same dream every sixteenth of April, so maybe his other dreams are linked to dates, too. 

I wouldn’t know. My nightmares strike no matter what I do. 

 

28 April 1622

We left today for another new town. It’s a good thing I keep track of each town in this journal and my other book, because there is no way in hell I’d remember everyone we meet otherwise. Sometimes I confuse towns with each other and sometimes I think we’re further from home than we are, so the journal really helps keep track. 

 

30 April 1622

Here we are again. A new town with a new set of people to teach, a new beginning for all of us. 

I wonder how many there are left.


	61. Things Come to Pass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As in the title, things happen. Simonn and Dianna plan another trip home; larger plans slowly begin to unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah I missed again! I'm sorry! This time it was NaNoWriMo, except over my long winter break. If all goes well, we will be reaching an important pivotal moment quite soon...

1 May 1622

This new town is larger than most of the others we’ve visited and perhaps it’s because of that or maybe it’s because the king is catching on to us, but there’s many more guards. It makes me nervous. Well, it makes me more than nervous, but I don’t know quite how to describe it. 

I’d talk to Sigmun, but I don’t want him to worry. He’s got plenty enough to worry about without me. 

 

4 May 1622

Writing lessons, speeches, hunting, healing, debating, arguing, hiding--all the usual activities. I’ve been carrying around some of our savings in a pouch under my cloak in case I run into another guard harassing another person who can’t afford something. Of course I always have my bread knife on me, and of course Sigmun still doesn’t know about it. 

I need to talk to someone. Maybe Simonn next time he’s up from nightmares. 

 

7 May 1622

We had quite the night last night. After his speech, everyone was eating stew and talking, and I was talking with Jane and Elizabeth, all the usual, some guards found the camp and accused us of unlawful assembly, I think. Something like that. Sigmun stepped up to talk with them while Dolora and Simonn and I slowly siphoned people off and into the forest to go home with assurances that they could come back tomorrow, everything would be okay. When they were all gone, us three joined Sigmun, who was still talking. 

“Sirs, I promise you, all we are doing is providing food and conversation. My wife teaches hunting for subsistence and writing for enrichment. My mother simply spreads effective healing techniques. My dear friend just talks to people to provide them with comfort in these hard times. All I do is talk with people who need a friendly ear.” 

“You have been inciting rebellion among the people.”

“I understand that you’ll be in quite a lot of trouble with the king if you don’t arrest criminals for this sort of behavior. However, I think you’ll find that if you send a message to Her Highness Candas the First, you will see that our activities pose no threat and are completely authorized.” He wasn’t upset or anything, just calmly telling them in that cheerful voice of his that we weren’t hurting anyone. 

He was lying, though. I’ve never seen him do that before. 

The guard looked concerned. “Why should we?”

“Well, I don’t want to waste your time--dragging us to the city only for her to set us free. It’s much easier for you to post a guard on us and send a message to her. And then you can see for yourself that we’re causing no harm.”

The guard frowned, but my love is extremely persuasive. 

“We will have a guard on you at all times, you understand,” he said. 

“Of course,” Sigmun says. “Thank you for your service to our monarch--it’s important to keep this country safe from people who might try to cause problems.” 

He nodded stiffly and gave some instructions, at which point Sigmun turned to us and his face dropped. 

“Ça va?” I asked. 

He shrugged, and continuing in French, said, “I’m quite tired.” 

I nodded and set about stoking the fire. Dolora made a simple stew and we all went to our tents, where Sigmun started crying. 

“My love?” 

“I--I--I hate lying,” he said, in Russian. “I hate it.” 

“Sigmun, you have no choice,” I said. “We can’t tell them what we want to do, even if Candas approves. She’ll tell them to leave us alone and we can keep the letter as proof. Do you want me to handle it next time?” 

“No, I wouldn’t make you,” he said. “You were shaking when they were talking to us. And I know it frightens you.” 

It does, he’s right, but I had no idea he noticed. 

“Well, if it helps, you did very well.”

He shrugged. “I suppose.” He leaned forward, and so I met him halfway and kissed him softly. I wanted him so badly I could hardly stand it, but with the guard there, there was no chance. One of these days I’ll get around to seducing him again. It’s not as if it’s hard to do. 

 

9 May 1622

Candas’s message came today. She sent us a letter to present to any guards we encounter to prove to them that we’re not causing any trouble. With the guards gone, Jane was visibly less worried. I’m glad; we don’t need people scared off because the guards are onto us. 

I don’t know why they’d be getting more numerous if Candas supports us, but maybe it’s her father’s doing. Or maybe Simonn’s right about her. 

 

13 May 1622

A new town today. Our travel time is getting shorter, I suppose because we’re getting used to traveling. I suppose overall we’ve become habituated to rebellion. 

 

16 May 1622

Lessons today as always. There are definitely more guards in this town, stalking around in pairs of two and glowering at people. It makes me anxious, and while I conceal it around town I’m sure my family notices. Simonn and I will have to plan another trip home soon, to visit the towns we haven’t seen in a while and to visit home. Neolla and Mariek, while not with us, are working on our bigger plan--inspecting and mapping the city and such. 

 

18 May 1622

I spoke with a woman today named Josephine who seemed quite exhausted. She told me she’d been staying up late writing by candlelight. I told her that while I was impressed, she might learn better well-rested. I hope that didn’t sound condescending, but I never learn as well when I’m tired. 

Anyways, teaching’s been going well, reading and writing as well as hunting. Bowhunting isn’t easy, but all one really needs is practice. 

 

21 May 1622

Simonn was up at the fire last night, like he does sometimes. This time there were people asleep in his and Dolora’s little tents so we were all squished into the bigger tent, Sigmun’s and mine. I noticed he was gone when I had a nightmare and managed to get out without waking Dolora or Sigmun (considering that he sleeps with his arms around me this was quite the feat). 

Since there were other people there, I said, “Si.” 

“Di.” 

“Did you have the nightmare again?”

“No,” he said, “A different one.”

“What happened?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“What? Why not?”

He frowned, bit his lip, and stared harder at the flames. If he’d stared any harder I would’ve thought he was conjuring the fire from his thoughts. “It’s…not good for you.” 

“It’s not set in stone.” 

“Maybe. But it’s not good for you.”

“None of this will be good for any of us. Please, Si, it’ll drive you mad trying to keep it in.” 

“I can’t tell you,” he said. “It’ll hurt you. It’ll scare you.”

“I’m already scared. I’m already hurt.” 

“You’re not hurt yet.” 

“Not physically, but don’t you think it hurts me when he cries every time he lies? When you sit by the fire pulling yourself to pieces because you won’t talk to me?” 

“You’re putting me in an impossible situation,” he said. 

“So tell me,” I said. “Solve it. Do the impossible.” 

He took one of those deep breaths he does. “They’re going to torture us. You know that.” 

“I do.” 

“They don’t really do that much anymore, but someone--and I’m not saying it’s Candas, but I would not put it past her or Grantt--is going to make an exception for us. They’re going to execute some of us. They’ll do…terrible things to us.”

“I know, Si. It’s going to hurt.” 

“It will. And…you’re going to have your wedding ring.”

“Of course I will,” I say. “I’ll have it until the day I die.” 

“I--they’re--I don’t know how to say this,” he said, looking fretful. “I--I can’t tell him, because it’ll drive him mad with worry. I can’t tell her for the same reason. And I can hardly tell you because it’s about you. But…I have to get this off my chest!” 

“Si, what is it?” I asked again, because he was really starting to worry me--even more than Sigmun when his voices get loud. 

“They’re going to hurt you and him for each other. Like a play,” he said quietly. “It’s going to be awful. I--I’m not there. I only hear you and him--screaming. I think…he begs them not to touch you. You scream at them that you hate them and hope they burn in hell for what they’re doing. I’m sorry, I can’t see in that one. I can see in some of them but not that one.” 

“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault what you dream or don’t dream. I’m just trying to help you out by listening.” 

“Well, I’m done talking, so if you want to start on what’s bothering you, go ahead.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.” 

I frowned at him. “Fine. Seeing all these guards makes me…anxious, I guess. I hate being around guards. I wish I wasn’t afraid of them all the time but I can’t seem to do anything about it.” 

“That’s reasonable,” he said. “I’d be afraid of the guards if I were you.”

“You’re not?”

“Not the same way. I mean, I’m afraid of them because of my dreams, but one of them actually hurt you. It makes perfect sense to be afraid.” He leaned a little towards me and took my hands, looking very solemn and concerned. “I--I can’t promise they’ll never hurt you. But I’ll do everything I can to stop them.” 

“Si, you don’t have to promise anything. I can take care of myself. If anything, I should be keeping them away from you--which I will.” 

“I know that,” he says. “I just want you to know.” 

I nodded and he let go of my hands. I hugged him close and said, quietly, “We’ll both protect them, and each other, and it’s going to be okay.” 

“No it won’t.”

“Just pretend.” 

“Okay.” 

We went back to the tent and I curled up next to my love with my head on his chest and let his heartbeat lull me to sleep. 

 

24 May 1622

Sigmun’s voices have been loud lately. We left the town this morning and had to stop briefly because they were screaming at him, too loud for him to think. He wouldn’t have stopped except that he fell over and we all panicked. Dolora mixed up some of her herbs into something to calm the nerves, and Simonn and I just sat there with him and tried to calm him down, but it took hours. His voices finally quieted enough for him to talk to us, but he didn’t say much. He let us keep hugging him until the voices were back to normal. 

Later, when Dolora was cooking and Simonn reading, Sigmun said, “They hate me.”

“What?”

“Most of my voices--they hate me. Some of them hate me because I’m stupid for even doing this because we’ll never get anywhere, and some of them hate me for putting you all in danger, and some of them…some of them are just cruel.” 

“I’m sorry,” I said. 

“Thank you,’ he said genuinely. “I know how you feel now, I suppose.”

“What?”

“With the melancholy. I never knew what it felt like for your own mind to turn on you, and now I know. I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through. The melancholy and the other nonsense your mind does.” 

“What other nonsense?”

“The nightmares and everything.”

“Oh. Well, thank you. But how are you doing?”

“I’ll be okay,” he said. “You’re okay, right?”

“Sure.” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been a great husband lately.” 

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I mean, we’re starting a revolution and all that, and I’m preaching to people and talking to them and teaching them, but I’m also your husband and I love you.” 

“I haven’t exactly been a stunning example of a good wife, then.” Which is true. Keeping secrets and all. 

“Our next stop, when I’m feeling a little more steady, we’ll be a proper married couple,” he promised, resting his forehead against mine. I leaned in and kissed him, soft and sweet. I think sometimes I want him more than he wants me, but not because he doesn’t want me--because he doesn’t want so much. I don’t mind, really. We have other things to do. 

As long as I sleep wrapped up in his arms, I’m fine with however our marriage turns out. 

 

26 May 1622

Sigmun and I finally went out into the woods again last night. It was wonderful, better than it’s ever been. I mean, ever since we were married it’s been getting better, but this time was spectacular. Maybe I was just worked up or something from the winter months, but I don’t care. It was great. 

Simonn’s been drinking my tea and he’s been perking up some, looking less sad anyways. I think his melancholy is different from mine--more circumstantial, if more dramatic when it rears its ugly head. 

 

29 May 1622

All the usual today. Mary from town is one of the quickest learners I’ve ever met. She’s already shooting with remarkably accuracy and writing better than I did when I learned. She doesn’t know much about actually stringing together words, but her penmanship is lovely. She makes these delicate script p’s and q’s that are just stunning. 

She’s also very pretty. If I weren’t a married woman I might find her attractive. I suppose that’s not really right, but Dolora only really loves women so it can’t really be so bad. (Although Dolora tells us that we don’t know her parents because she was never married.) 

Either way, it doesn’t matter too much. I am a married woman and I love Sigmun. I know why people commit adultery, but I can’t even imagine it. I just love him. 

 

1 June 1622

Sigmun agrees with me that Mary is very pretty and talented, and then he teased me that he hoped he didn’t have any competition. 

“Of course not, my love. You’re the only one for me.” 

He smiled and leaned in to kiss me. He’s so sweet. 

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said. 

And I do. 

 

4 June 1622

Dolora knows something is wrong. I know she knows because she cornered me once we’d started traveling to ask about it. “Dianna dear, is something bothering you?” 

“Nothing,” I said, much too fast. I’m not good at lying to her. 

“Dear, it’s alright. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” 

“I’m really alright,” I said again. 

“Well, dear, I won’t press you. But it might help to talk about things, alright?” She frowned, looking concerned, and it almost hurt. I hate worrying Dolora--I worried her enough when I was young. 

“Thanks. But I’m alright,” I said. I hate lying to my family. I don’t think it would help them one bit to tell them what Simonn believes, or perhaps knows, but I hate lying to them. I’ve crossed some line in my head now and I can’t go back. 

It’s going to hurt, but if it hurts any more than this, I’ll be impressed. 

 

7 June 1622

He made a speech two days ago on Sunday, and I swear he speaks better every time. He speaks like his words could tear down all the structures we live with that hurt us. Of course, when it’s just us he talks in that easy way he always has, but when he speaks he could move mountains. 

He says he doesn’t hear his voices when he speaks, so I hope he speaks more often. They’re not nice to him. 

 

9 June 1622

I met a woman named Gail today who was brilliant at hunting but hopeless with her penmanship. I suppose I know that people are good at different things, but I still want to teach everyone everything. 

 

12 June 1622

There has to be something I can do about Sigmun’s voices. They’ve been so loud lately, or so he tells me. I have no reason to doubt him, but I also have no way to be inside his head. I wish I could be there for him more, but I just don’t know how. I’d offer him some of my tea, but I don’t think that would help. 

He had a speech today and it helped, but not as much as usual. Maybe when we start the next town he’ll feel better. Maybe Dolora can mix something up for him--or maybe we can find a book to help him. 

There has to be something. 

 

14 June 1622

We leave tomorrow, and hopefully we can get some rest before we get to the next town. I won’t let Sigmun do any of the housework (tentwork?) if I can stop him, because I think he needs rest more than anyone else--even Simonn with his terrible nightmares, even Dolora with all the work she does healing. 

I don’t fancy myself a remarkable teacher, but it can be quite tiring. Maybe we all need a rest. 

 

17 June 1622

We’re in a new town now and I think Sigmun feels a bit better. He says his voices are a little quieter. I hope he’s telling the truth, because I know his voices are really cruel. I wish telling him the wonderful things he is and does was enough, but I know it’s not, and it never will be. I guess I’ll just try to be there for him as long as I can. 

 

19 June 1622

He made a speech today and afterwards he seemed quite happy. Later, when it was quiet and we were going to bed, he tapped my shoulder and asked me to come out to the woods with him in just the sweetest way imaginable, with that cute little grin of his. He’s so cute. I wanted to sleep out in the woods with him, warm and safe, but we did have to go back to the tent, because although everyone knows we’re married we don’t really let anyone know anything about it. 

I sometimes wish we could go back to our old lives, when we were comfortable at home. I know we can’t, and I really don’t think I could give this up. We’re making a difference, and I could never stop. 

 

22 June 1622

Simonn was up late last night at the fire and so I went to sit with him. 

“Nightmares?” I asked. 

“No,” he said. “I just remembered I turned twenty-seven four days ago.”

“Oh,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I forgot.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “It’s easy to do. I just remembered. You know, she’s getting older…”

“Who is?”

“My daughter. She was two in March. Han--Handmaid wrote, told me she’s talking and everything. Eleanor’s teaching her to walk. I really want to go home soon to see her.” 

“We should definitely make another trip home,” I said. “I’d love to meet her.” 

“Me too,” he said quietly. “I think about her every day.” Then, after a moment, “I’m sorry. Luke…”

I blinked hard. “I--I know you love her,” I said. “I know you loved Luke, too. And I love her--she might as well be my niece. When we go home, I would love to see her.” 

“We ought to go sometime during the end of harvest,” Simonn said. “When people have plenty and are willing to share. They’ll be more receptive, and we can hopefully get to sleep in someone’s guest room.”

“One of us, anyways.” 

“Oh, right. We’re not married,” I said.

“Not to each other, anyways.” 

“Well, I am married, and you might as well be, so we’ll work it out. Everyone thinks we’re cousins anyways.” 

“That’s true. Although we’re closer to siblings in some ways.”

“It’s easier to say cousins.” 

He nodded and we were quiet for a moment. 

“He’s going to get worried,” I said quietly. 

“He always does.” 

“His…his voices. Do you think he’ll be able to manage?” 

“He’ll have her.” 

“But…what if it’s too much for him? What if he can’t bear it anymore?”

Simonn paused, and thought. “What does he do when they’re loudest?”

“Hides. He’ll go to sleep early and not talk to anyone.” 

“Well, that’s no help.”

“He always feels better after talking to someone, about the voices or not, but he hardly does.” 

“He doesn’t talk to me.”

“He doesn’t want to worry you.”

Simonn gave me a look. 

“Has it occurred to you that you’re not the only one with problems?” 

“No need to be rude.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It just makes me feel ill, keeping things from him.” 

Simonn frowned. “I--I’m sorry. This is all my fault…If I hadn’t told you, you wouldn’t be keeping it from him…”

“First of all, you’d be keeping it from me, which I think would be a terrible idea. Second of all, it’s not all your fault, and this is my problem to handle.” 

“It may be, but if there’s anything I can do…”

“I wish there was some way we could tell him,” I say. “I know we can’t. Heaven knows his voices would only get worse. But I wish.” 

Simonn nodded, and eventually went to bed. I curled up with my love and was out like a snuffed candle. 

 

25 June 1622

He gives a speech tomorrow. He was reciting it to me tonight, after I’d finished lessons, and I was giving him suggestions like always, when he stopped and said, “You know, love, I know marriage is really more a business arrangement than anything else, but I love you.” 

“I know that, and I love you too,” I said. “Why?”

“I don’t think I’ve been a very good husband lately.” 

“Why not?”

“With…with the voices and all, I haven’t been with you as much as I want to be.”

“You realize this happens once every few months.”

He sighed. “I know. I say I’ll try to spend more time with you, and then I don’t, and then I apologize for it--I’m sorry.”

“It’s my fault as much as yours,” I said. “I’m always doing lessons or translating things. I should be spending more time with you, love. I know it helps you, and I love you!”

“I love you too,” he said. 

“Well, how about this?” I said. “Every town we stop in, we spend at least every other night together.”

“I might get tired, love,” he teased. 

“Not like that, silly,” I said. “I just mean…talking. Of course, I wouldn’t object if you wanted to…”

“I’m awfully tired,” he said. 

“Alright,” I said. “Well, how about we go to bed, anyways? We need rest.” 

He nodded and we went to bed, the speech unfinished. I suppose sometimes it’s alright to leave it for later. 

 

28 June 1622

We left town today. Moving along, as usual. I need to find a salve for my sore muscles--something like the mint oil Dolora uses. Sleeping on the ground and hunting all the time and traveling every few weeks is taking its toll my me. 

 

30 June 1622

A new town once more. There were more guards, but Sigmun showed them the letter and they didn’t bother us. It’s odd, but I suppose Candace’s word carries a lot of weight. Lessons started today and I met a woman named Magaret who had brilliant aim in almost no time at all. It took me years to have such good aim. 

People are so talented! I can’t believe any objects to educating everyone when people hold such potential.


	62. Not So Bad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simonn and Dianna head back home to push their plans forward, and visit some old friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on time for once!!! My time management skills are improving and so I have more time to write, also I've kind of got the hang of college a little. Thanks everyone for being so patient :)

1 July 1622

Simonn and I plan to leave in August this time to travel home, which is nice because I won’t miss my love’s birthday again. Simonn remembering his means that I’ll remember my love’s. I might forget my own, but that’s alright. Simonn told me he’s pretty sure I survive whatever is going to happen, so it won’t be my last birthday. 

Although…it might be my last birthday with my family. 

We can’t go any other time, but I’m sure we have more than a year. We’ll have more birthdays, we all will. I’m sure of it. 

 

3 July 1622

I told Sigmun that Simonn and I are planning to head home again and he got that worried look on his face like he does, and he told me to write every day and take care of myself, for heaven’s sake. He still doesn’t know about my breadknife. Maybe I’ll tell him someday, buy he’s so compassionate that he would never agree with me. 

I asked him about that, yesterday night. “How do you have so much patience?”

“What do you mean, patience?”

“I would go out of my mind trying to bring people around to our way of thinking! Have you heard some of the things they say?” 

“Of course I have,” he said. “I guess…I don’t know. I feel like they can be better if only they knew. If I just have patience and show them how it is from my perspective, they’ll see.” 

“Some of them don’t change their minds. Lots of them.”

“No one is irredeemable.” 

“What about that guard?” I don’t know why I brought it up--normally I would never. 

He paused for a moment and thought. “What he did is unforgivable, except by you. And I don’t think you should forgive him--but, you know, it’s not up to me. You know, I don’t know. I don’t want to think anyone is really bad, but I’m not sure.” 

I nodded. I don’t forgive that guard. I think I might hate him. 

“People who hurt people might deserve another chance,” he said finally, because I was still mulling things over. “But I think it depends.” 

“On what?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t imagine I know any better than you or the rest of our family, or anyone else, really.” 

“Hm,” I said. “I mean, I’d love to believe everyone is good, but…there are some people.” 

“I know,” he said. “I mean, it’s a big debate with no easy answers.” 

“Of course it is,” I agreed. “What say we get some rest--we have a big day tomorrow.”

“We have a big day every day.” 

“Fair enough, my love.” 

And so we went to bed. I’m glad we talked, but I still won’t tell him about my breadknife. I think it would only serve to make him more nervous, and he is quite nervous enough. 

 

6 July 1622

We leave this town in two days. It never feels like enough time. It’s never enough time to teach people everything I know about reading and writing and hunting. I’m not a remarkable teacher, but I’m lucky to know what I know and I certainly think everyone should have the same chance to know how to read and write. And hunting is a survival skill, I suppose. 

 

8 July 1622

We leave tomorrow. I said goodbye to Allison and Helen last night after dinner, and left them with those cards I make with objects and words on them. I hope they can keep learning to read and write. I really do think it matters. Reading is power in this world, I think. 

 

10 July 1622

Simonn and I are going to leave on July twenty-third, because that’s our next travel day after this town. Sigmun tried to get us to take the letter Candas sent, but I don’t think we’ll need it. As angry as I am, and as much trouble as I’m sure the government perceives that I cause, he’s the real upstart--making speeches and being kind and all. If the guards remember us, they won’t give us trouble, and if it’s new guards, they might not notice two, especially if townspeople know us. 

 

13 July 1622

I met a woman named Barbara today because she brought her little son to writing lessons. He’s only seven, but the younger the better for learning to write (to a point). Her son Tobie looked so much like my little Luke that it ached, but I didn’t say anything. I don’t generally bring Luke up unprompted, anyways, because I know it’s been years but it still hurts to talk about. I don’t suppose it will ever stop hurting. For heaven’s sake, I still feel the sting of some of my mother’s insults. 

These things may take time, but I’m not sure eternity is enough time. 

 

14 July 1622

It’s my love’s birthday today. We’re not really doing anything, but I wanted to remember it. I want there to be something happy in our lives before whatever is in Simonn’s dreams comes to pass. 

Dolora’s making baked apples over the fire. I didn’t notice, and I don’t think Simonn did either, but she made the stew he likes with potatoes and onions on his birthday. I’ll be gone for mine, but I can make myself something. 

I also thought about going to the woods tonight. I hope he wants to; wanting him more often than he wants me can be an imperfect situation. 

 

16 July 1622

If we travel fast and stop only half a day in each town, it should take us a month to get home. Our route winds back and forth across the country, to be sure, so if Simonn and I take the most direct route home we’ll get there in a month. If we didn’t stop at all and went as the crow flies, I think it would only take a week or two. But we do need to make stops, so we can make sure people remember us. 

We’ll be spending at least a couple weeks at home, plenty of time to visit with everyone we’ve been missing. And to visit the graveyard a few times. And the clearing in the woods, of course. 

I miss Luke. I don’t think I’ll ever stop. 

 

19 July 1622

More teaching, as usual. I can’t tell if my backache is from sleeping on the ground, stress, my bleeding, or the usual aches and pains from the melancholy. I’m generally just sore all the time, but I never know from what. I’ll just take Dolora’s pain medicine and hope for the best. 

 

21 July 1622

Simonn and I leave for home in a two days. Sigmun’s been fretting over us, being more affectionate than usual and trying to make us pack more food and all that. He’s sweet. I know it’s just because he worries about us, because he loves us, but I wish he wouldn’t worry like that. It makes me worry! 

Lessons have been going well. Most people it seems are quite happy learning new things. I’m always happy when the people I meet teach me something new. 

 

23 July 1622

We parted ways today. Sigmun and Dolora kept going north while Simonn and I went back south to our town. I mostly remember the way, but either way we have a map so we can’t get that lost. Or so I hope. 

I hope we don’t have any trouble pretending to be cousins. Simonn and I agreed that my mother and his father are siblings, so there shouldn’t be trouble there, but people might think it’s odd. 

They can think that. We are odd and I don’t really care. 

 

25 July 1622

It is a very good thing I write down the names of people I meet in towns in my book, because I would never remember otherwise. We’ve been to dozens of towns--I’m not even sure how many anymore--and I hardly remember my own name sometimes for all the ones I’ve learned. 

I can’t wait to see Gillian and Eliza again, and Florence. I really liked them. I think Eliza might be one of the only children I’ve met who I know enough about that she doesn’t remind me of Luke every time I look at her. 

 

28 July 1622

Traveling in the heat might just kill me I think. I end every day drenched with sweat and so thirsty my throat aches. Simonn looks worse than I do. Luckily, since people know us, they don’t think us insane wanderers. I wish we could go swimming, but no one would think it “appropriate” for cousins. 

But it’s harvest, and people are feeling generous, so we’ve gotten enough offers of places to sleep and food to eat and water to drink. We’ll get by. 

 

30 July 1622

Sigmun sent a letter today telling me all about this woman he met who spoke French and Russian who he thought I would love to meet. Her name is Janet and apparently she loves languages like me. He was so excited for me--it was adorable. He said he was going to include some things she wanted to say to me and I could write back. 

She seems like a wonderful woman. Maybe we can be friends. 

 

2 August 1622

More towns as usual. It’s like we’re flying through them. We’re getting closer to home with every step, and I can feel it. I want to be home right now. I love Sigmun and Dolora to death, and I want to be with them most of the time, but something right now is drawing me home. My bed is going to feel empty and heaven knows I’ll miss my family, and my love in more ways than one, but it’s going to be familiar and warm and comfortable. 

 

5 August 1622

I think we’re getting close to the village where we left Gillian and Eliza. I hope Gillian’s doing better. She seemed so tired when we left, but ready to move on. As it is, today we stopped in another village today and talked with our old friends there. As usual. 

 

8 August 1622

I talked with Rita again today whose husband died in a farm accident. Her little one was born, a daughter named Carolyn. She was cute as a button, just a month old. Rita seemed a bit better off, and she mentioned looking for work as a farmhand. Not many are willing to hire a woman, but she is friends with someone in town who might. I’m glad for her. 

 

12 August 1622

Today we reached the town Em lives in. Em’s the one who heard about us before we reached her village. She’s quite brilliant, and I’m always glad to talk with her. 

Simonn’s been talking with people too. I think it makes him happy like it makes me happy, to see people we’ve talked to for the better. It makes him happy to see happiness in others; it makes me to see happiness in others. 

 

14 August 1622

We reached Gillian’s town today, and we stayed with her and Eliza. Gillian’s been working as a seamstress and a laundress, so she’s gotten a little cottage for herself and just enough land for a nice garden. Eliza remembered me and was quite excited to show me around her home and garden. She’s such a sweet child. 

Gillian is doing better. She confessed over tea that she still has nightmares, so I told her I do too. It seemed to help. I mean, it helps me to know I’m not alone in having this awful fear. 

I wish we could stay longer, but it’s just tonight. 

 

17 August 1622

We’re so close to home. Six more days of travel and we’ll be back in our hometown. Today we were in Maude’s town, a woman from the town with the man who thought I was so wildly different from other women. She let us in and fed us, so all is well on that front. Whenever we stop, I worry people won’t still like our ideas, that they’ll make us leave their towns and sleep in the woods. But that doesn’t seem to happen. Maybe people do like what we have to say. 

 

19 August 1622

We saw Florence today, from back when we were first traveling. She wasn’t so pale, or ill-looking. We had tea and she told me in a quiet voice that she was considering becoming a nun. I told her that it sounded like a fine idea, and she said she never wanted to be married so it seemed like a good option. 

If it weren’t for Sigmun, I might want to be a nun. I’m not sure there’s another man like him in the world--a man so kind and caring and genuine, a man who cares so much about my comfort and safety, a man who wants to talk to me. 

 

22 August 1622

Today is my birthday. I’m twenty-seven now. I’m not really old, but I’m not so young anymore. I should have at least three children by now, by all rights. I should be raising them at home while my husband works, and he should have a steady job. 

These are things I should be and do, but aren’t and don’t. And another thing I don’t do: regret that I do not and am not these things I ought to be. 

 

24 August 1622

We’re home. Tonight I’m going to sleep in my own bed at home, and eat from Dolora’s garden, and cook on our stove. I know I’m going to feel odd sleeping in my bed without my husband, but I’m going to be okay. 

If all else fails, I have my old cat. 

 

27 August 1622

Simonn and I visited his daughter today. She’s an adorable little girl, not really old enough to be talking clearly but old enough to manage a few words. She called him Uncle Simonn and I saw that it hurt him to not be her father, but there isn’t anything we can do right now. When she’s older they’ll explain it to her--when she’s old enough to keep a secret. 

I mean, no one can know. 

 

29 August 1622

Today…Simonn walked with me to the clearing where Luke is…is buried. I brought flowers for me and for Sigmun, and Simonn just sat with me while we both cried. 

It’s never going to stop hurting. Never. 

 

31 August 1622

Candas sent a letter today saying she wanted to meet with us in town so we could talk about plans, perhaps with a local noble we might be able to convince to be on our side. It looks like she might not be so bad after all. She’s really trying to help us, I think. Maybe she does want better for her people. Maybe Sigmun’s right after all.


	63. Sister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna and Simonn go home and meet some important people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit I'm on time again! Thanks everyone for sticking with me :)

2 September 1622

Candas was in town today, and I saw Orvill and Grantt but she didn’t try to bring them over to speak with us. They make me more nervous than her--Grantt does, anyways--so I didn’t mind. 

Anyways, I made her tea, and we talked about plans. 

“We were hoping to gather people in towns and bring them to the city, to make a point,” I said. “If we flood the city streets, someone is sure to notice.” 

“What about when the guards get violent?”

“Well, we were hoping that you could hold them off.” 

“I suppose I could. Do you know when?”

We’re planning sometime next spring, but I wasn’t about to tell her that, because I do like to keep some distance. “Not really. We’re thinking within the year, but we’ll tell you when we know better.” 

“Of course. Did you get my letter?”

“Yes, thank you very much. Those guards still give me the shivers.” I only realized today how much of my interaction with her is a performance. With my friends, I tell them I’m petrified of the guards and the sight of them makes me break out in a cold sweat. With her, I toss off a line about how they give me the shivers. 

“Well, they are supposed to be intimidating,” she said, stirring her tea. She prefers black tea steeped light with cream. I’m not sure why I always remember people’s tea preferences, but I do. Florence likes black tea strong with sugar; Gillian likes green steeped medium with cream and sugar; Em prefers green strong on its own. (Well, when sugar and cream are available.)

“I know.”

“No chance you know which town you’re heading to next?”

“No,” I lied. “My husband’s got the whole plan, but he doesn’t tend to tell me much about it. He’s so absent-minded.” 

“I might be able to help if I knew. My father’s been sending guards to more towns, you know.”

“We know. I’ll ask him to write you when we meet up again.” 

“Can’t you write him a letter now? I wouldn’t want something to happen when you and Simonn aren’t there to protect him.” 

“We don’t have to protect him. He can protect himself.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. He’ll be fine until we get back to him.” I didn’t mention his voices because I knew that wouldn’t go over so well to someone who doesn’t understand what it’s like to be out of your mind. 

“Well, if you could find out your plans a little in advance, that would be great,” she said. 

“I’d love to,” I said. “I’ll do my best. But, you know, letters get lost so easily these days…” 

“Alright,” she said. “Well, whatever you know.”

“Of course,” I lied, again. “As soon as he’s got his head on straight, I’ll have him write you.”

“Thank you,” she said. 

I don’t mind lying to her the way I hate lying to Sigmun. It doesn’t bother me because I don’t really trust her, and though I’m sure she thinks we trust her I don’t think she trusts anyone. 

 

4 September 1622

Neolla and Mariek were over today for tea. Simonn was with Hannah and their daughter, and so I spent the day with my friends. Neolla’s made a good map of the city and Mariek has been studying the way the guards do things, the way they patrol and all that. Mariek’s not afraid of the guards, and I don’t really know why, except that perhaps she only acts unafraid. Neolla doesn’t like them, so she sympathizes with me. 

 

6 September 1622

I went with Simonn to see his daughter today. I worry sometimes that seeing her just makes things harder for him, but the way he smiles when he plays with her is just too sweet. I think in another life he and Hannah might’ve been very happy with their daughter. In another life I imagine none of the terrible things that hurt like burning would’ve happened, though, so perhaps it’s all just nonsense. 

Simonn and I have been cooking a lot lately and I just love the taste of Dolora’s thyme. I don’t know if it’s different from any other thyme but I think it’s delicious. 

 

9 September 1622

Candas brought her noble friend over today--the one from the castle we can see from town. I’m lucky Simonn was there, because otherwise I might’ve passed out. It turns out her friend is my blood sister. 

We don’t look very much alike, but Simonn said we had the same face-shape, and the same green eyes. Her hair’s much nicer than mine, but that’s the sort of thinking I’ve been trying to stop lately. She looked as surprised as I felt, but I think I held myself quite well. I’m sure that’s go to do with how good I am at lying. 

“Hello, Candas,” I said. “Who’s your friend?”

“She’s from the castle in your area,” Candas said. “This is Grace.”

“Hello, Grace,” I said. “I’m Disciple, and this is Psiioniic.” Candas shot me a look, but I’m      not about to give my real name to someone who lives so close to my town. I figured she already knew who I was, anyways. 

“Nice to meet you,” she said, looking me up and down in a very suspicious way, like she thought I was up to something. I did have my bread knife with me, but I wasn’t going to use it. I don’t imagine myself to be an imposing person. I’m much too short for that. Besides Dolora, I’ve seen both Mariek and Neolla look quite terrifying, but I don’t know what it is about them that they can do that. 

“And you,” I said. 

Simonn stayed standing, looking very squirrelly. I had the sense he felt like if he sat down, she might attack us. I can’t say I was afraid of her, but I didn’t like her very much, either. She made me nervous. 

“I reckon we can all be helpful to each other,” Candas said. She nodded at me and said, “If you could explain what you and your friends are doing…”

“My family and I are traveling across the country in hopes of unearthing people’s true feelings about the government so some kind of reform can be made, economically and socially. We also hope to spread education in various fields.” 

“True feelings?” 

“We find many people are unhappy with the current state of affairs--heavy taxes, no say in their government, laws that may be restrictive or even harmful.” 

“And so you think that the country will rise up against their king and throw him down?” 

“We do not want to start a violent rebellion. We just want to bring these people together and to the city so the king can see how the people really feel. And with Candas at the king’s side, we hope to create serious reforms to help as many people as we can.” 

She frowned and nodded. “Alright. Why?”

“Because we believe everyone is equal, and no one should lose out on opportunities because of their birth.” 

I could feel her growing angry. “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said quite rudely. “But you are common. I doubt you’d be saying these things were you a noble.” 

“If we were noble I doubt we’d notice how much those around us were suffering. As it is, we are in fact common and we notice how those we love struggle day-to-day to survive when there are better options.” 

“I don’t think you understand,” she said calmly. “It is a fact of life that, by blood, I am entitled to the estate I inhabit. You, on the other hand, are entitled to this tired house and sorry garden.” 

I bit down on my tongue because it’s Dolora’s garden, and my home, and she had no right to judge our home. It’s our home. “By blood, I’m not entitled to this home, either.” 

“Oh, really. What did you inherit? A peasant’s cottage with a leaky roof?” I could feel my shoulders tense. 

“Well, I suppose…hm. This is my husband’s mother’s home, so perhaps this place. Perhaps my mother and father’s house on the outskirts of town. Or perhaps your castle on the hill.” 

“My castle?” 

“We are related, you know.”

“Disciple, this isn’t relevant,” Simonn said, carefully. 

“I think it is,” she said. “If this woman is out of her mind I will not be working with you.” 

“I’m not out of my mind,” I said. “I’m your damn sister.” 

“You’re out of your mind,” she said. 

“No,” Candas said. “I don’t believe so.” 

“I never had a sister,” she snapped. “My parents only had one child.”

“I never had a sister either,” I said. “I only knew you existed because the couple your parents foisted me off onto hated me.” 

“I never had a sister.”

“How old are you?”

“Thirty-one.” 

“When you were four, do you remember your mother?” 

“Of course.” 

“Do you remember another child in your nursery?”

“I had a doll. And an active imagination.” 

Candas cut in. “Look, Grace, I--it doesn’t matter. They don’t lie.” 

“How do you know that?”

“I’ve known them most of my life. Let’s get to business.” 

She pinched her lips together, but not like the way Dolora does. She had more of a sour-lemon look, while Dolora’s is more of stern look, and her lips go very narrow and pale more than anything else. 

“Indeed,” I said. It doesn’t matter if she believes me or not. I don’t plan to claim any right to her property, and I certainly could care less about her title. It just…felt odd, to be sitting across my table from my blood sister, so completely at odds. I was raised to believe all people were equal, and she was raised quite the opposite, and there we were at my table, discussing if she’d be willing to help the things we’re doing. 

“So, what do you want from me?” she asked. 

“We just want your support,” I said. “When Candas goes before the king, we want you to be in vocal support of her plans.” 

“What plans?”

“Mostly tax reforms right now,” Candas said. “Social reform will come later, once the common folk have more agency.” 

“Hopefully education,” I said. “Reading and writing, along with basic math skills--at the very least. Make the universities more accessible. Read books from other countries and regions to share knowledge, especially medical knowledge.” 

“Alright, and the girls?”

“They go to school too.” 

She nodded tentatively. “And you want my support on these matters.” 

“Yes.”

“So you understand I do not have a seat in Parliament.” 

“But you have your husband’s voice.” 

“But King James has the divine right to rule.” 

“That doesn’t mean he can’t be convinced.” 

“You must be out of your mind.”

“I might be, a little bit, but it is still important to me and to us to allow people the same chances, no matter who they are.” 

“Who is us?” 

“Myself, my best friend, my husband, and my mother-in-law.” 

“Your husband,” she said, glancing at Simonn. 

“No, this is my best friend. My husband is still traveling.” I think part of the reason he doesn’t come home with us is because Simonn and I don’t trust Candas to not hurt him, when he trusts everyone so damn much. 

“As is your mother-in-law.” 

“Yes, indeed. This way no one is left alone.” 

“How am I to know these people exist?”

“She’s met them,” I said, nodding at Candas. “Or I have letters they’ve written.” Besides those terrible letters we wrote when we were young, I keep the letters he writes me and us when we’re traveling (he doesn’t always write separately to me and Simonn, but he will sometimes). 

“I can vouch for their existence,” Candas said, only a little sarcastic. 

“And you really think I can talk my husband into supporting these laws.”

“Yes,” I said. 

“Then why ask me? Just talk to him.”

“Because he would never listen,” Candas said. “Let’s be honest. If I brought him here to speak with this woman, would he ever have listened?” 

“I--perhaps not,” she said. “How on Earth do you suggest I bring this up to him?”

“Point out that better taxes mean more social programs for your family.” 

It went on like that for a while, and eventually she agreed to talk with her husband. 

I haven’t been talking much to Simonn since then. It just feels so…odd. I was sitting across from this woman who was born to the same people as me but we were at complete odds with each other. 

It’s just odd. 

 

13 September 1622

I finally gathered my courage and went to Luke’s clearing, picking flowers on the way. Simonn came with me of course and we sat there for a long time. Part of me wants to talk to my baby, but part of me is terrified to because I know he won’t respond. He’ll never learn to talk. 

It’s not good for me to think that way but I can’t help it. I loved him and every time I see another little child I think of him and I still feel that terrible pang of jealousy whenever I see Simonn and Hannah with their daughter. Simonn doesn’t know that, for everything else he does know. He can’t know. He feels bad enough these days. 

 

16 September 1622

I was up last night from nightmares and went downstairs like I normally do to make tea, and Simonn was sitting there with his own cup of tea. He was fiddling with those magnets we bought him a few years ago and frowning. 

“Hello there,” I said. 

“Hi.” 

“Nightmares?”

“Yeah.” 

I nodded and sat in my usual chair across from him. I really didn’t want to be anywhere but next to my love at that moment, because I wanted him to tell me I’d be okay. But he was miles away and I was tired and so I just sat there with my cup of tea until it was cold and Simonn went to bed, and then on through the morning. 

 

19 September 1622

I got a letter from Sigmun today, which happens many days but today he was writing back to me about my nightmares. He was sweet about it, like he is, and told me that he’d always be there for me. If Simonn’s right he won’t be and I hate to admit how much that scares me. I don’t know what I’d do if they weren’t here with me. I’ve just always had my little family around me. I don’t know what I’m going to do when they’re gone. 

 

22 September 1622

We’ve mostly finished the business we can do here and so we’re headed back to meet up with Sigmun and Dolora tomorrow. I’m glad; I don’t like being away from them, even though I’m with Simonn. 

I hope we have time before whatever’s in Simonn’s dreams comes to pass. I want more time with my family, and I’m afraid I won’t get it. 

I suppose…I’ll always have them with me in my memories and all. But that doesn’t change that when whatever it is happens, I won’t fall asleep in my love’s arms ever again. 

 

24 September 1622

We’re not stopping in towns this time--we’re heading straight back to Sigmun and Dolora. It should take about two weeks, I think, fi we go fast and don’t stop in any towns. It’d be nice to see my love and Dolora again. I worry about them both, even though Dolora would tell me not to worry, she’s my mother and she ought to be worrying about me. 

I hope Sigmun’s voices aren’t too cruel. I think they’re cruel to him because he can be hard on himself, but I don’t know how to persuade him to be kinder to himself. He never thinks he’s done enough and it worries me. I know the world changes only when someone takes relentless action, but he’s going to wear himself ragged this way. And with his voices and all…

I worry. 

 

27 September 1622

I know it’s terrible but I’ve been missing Sigmun as my best friend and as my husband and also as the only person I sleep with. Normally in the summer months when we can go out to the woods, we can find time at least a few times a week. I know it’s terrible but I miss that, too. 

Although, why should it be terrible? I love him and I want to sleep with him. I know I go back and forth on this. I wish I could just settle on this opinion and be happy with my married life this way. 

Simonn and I have been talking as usual lately, and I feel guilty about being so jealous of his daughter, when he feels so guilty about leaving her behind. It’s hard to talk to him sometimes when we’re home, because of his daughter and Hannah and Sigmun and…everything. 

 

30 September 1622

Every step takes me closer to the rest of my family and I can’t wait to see them again. I don’t think any three or two of us would do very well on our own, really. I know without them it wouldn’t be long before my melancholy snuck back in my mind, like ink over paper. Without my family to talk to, to keep me here, I don’t know how I’d control it--the melancholy. 

I won’t worry about that now. When we see them again, I’ll kiss Sigmun and go out into the woods with him and tell him how much I love him and tell him the things he said help drown out his voices. I’ll talk with Dolora and cook with her and learn from her and tell her how much it means to me that she raised me. 

I have them right now. I can’t worry about the future until it’s here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This week's chapter brought to you by two completely unrelated songs from completely unrelated parts of my life: All Are Welcome from church and Mary Ellen Carter from folk singing.


	64. Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late and short chapter! I had the worst cold last week and it's finals season. Next chapter gets more exciting!

2 October 1622

I don’t know where we’ll be for All Saints’ this year. I just hope we’re traveling again on November seventh. I don’t know if I can bring myself to teach that day. I can hardly bring myself to get out of bed that day, usually. Mostly it’s that if I don’t, my family will worry. 

 

6 October 1622

Our last day in this town. We travel tomorrow. Sigmun looked at our plans, and we can’t work out a way to be traveling on November seventh. I don’t know how any of us are going to manage to do our work that day. I think of my baby every time I see a child in these towns, but most of all on that day. 

I don’t know…me, as who I am…I’m not sure if I ever wanted children, now. I thought I did before Luke was born, and it hurt when Dolora told me trying again might kill me, but now…I’m not sure. What is me, and what is what the world wants me to think? Do I want children? Did I ever? Do I believe I don’t want children now so that I can reconcile myself with what I’m doing now, something I could never do if I had children? If Luke lived, would we be here? Would I regret it if we’d never left because of him? Would I know enough to regret? 

I have too many questions with not enough answers. 

 

11 October 1622

Today is Neolla’s birthday. It doesn’t mean much to anyone but us, but it’s nice. 

Things are going well in the new town. It’s nice here. I’ve been speaking to a woman named Judith and she’s quite brilliant. I think people who seem to be dull would be intelligent if ever given the chance to find out. 

 

18 October 1622

I’ve been terrible about writing lately. I just keep forgetting with everything else that’s going on. Writing and reading and hunting and translating…I always have something to do. 

I haven’t learned a new language in a while. It would be nice to do that again. 

 

23 October 1622

This is the town we’ll be in for All Saints’. It’s Sunday, so there was a speech today. And I can tell my love wants to do something for me. He always wants to show me he loves me, rather than anything else, so he’ll do things like make me one of my favorite foods or buy a book in town he knows I’ll like. 

I love him to death, but I don’t think I’m so good at romantic gestures. 

 

31 October 1622

All Saints’ Eve today. We went to the festival in the village, and we danced with all the people we’ve met, and ate dinner with Fortune and her family, and it was…well, it will never be as fun as the festivals at home, before everything with Luke, but it was nice. 

The food was delicious, and Sigmun and I went out into the woods for quite a long time. 

 

1 November 1622

It was All Saints’ Day today, and we went to the festival again. I think going to the festivals helps the people of any given village feel better about us being there, because it’s clear that we’re just like everyone else. We just want to be part of something bigger than ourselves, and sometimes we just want to dance together under the stars and feel happy. 

 

7 November 1622

Today was the day. I…I didn’t get out of bed. I woke up and Sigmun was still lying there, his arms around me, and that never happens. He’s always up before me. 

“Dianna, my love.” 

“I know,” I said, holding him closer. “I know.” 

“I…I can’t,” he said quietly. “I can’t, not today.” 

“Me neither,” I said. 

We were quiet for a long time, and then Dolora pushed open the tent flap. “My dears…” 

I saw her sad eyes and couldn’t help but cry. All I could think of was my baby boy and how much it hurt. 

“Rest,” she said, softly. “I’ll get you some soup.” 

“I…we have to get up,” I said. 

“No, you don’t,” Dolora said. “Psiioniic and I will handle everything today. Rest.” 

So we lied there, and then sat there, talking some but mostly just sitting quietly and holding each other. He used to be so angry, but I think now he’s not angry. Now he aches deep down inside in a different way. 

 

18 December 1622

I can’t believe I forgot to write for a whole month. I think, sometimes, the hurt overwhelms me in a way that makes me forget to write. Sometimes it overwhelms me such that I feel like I have to write, but sometimes I just forget. 

We’ll be in this village for Christmas and Boxing Day. I hope we’ll be alright. 

 

21 December 1622

Simonn had one of his nightmares last night. They’ve been getting worse, and more frequent. He has more details these days, too--he knows more of the terrible things that will happen to us. He tells me we’re going to bleed. He tells me he hears me scream like I’m dying, and he hears me beg for something, but he doesn’t know what. 

I’m afraid. I don’t trust the guards as far as I can throw them and I’m terrified of what might happen to me. It’s going to hurt. 

 

23 December 1622

We think we’re going to have Christmas dinner with Rebecca and her husband, probably. She has enough to feed us, and I’ll hunt of course. Lessons are going well. Rebecca’s getting so good at writing, and Constance reads whole sentences. And his speeches are going well. I’m always happy to hear him talk. 

 

25 December 1622

Merry Christmas! It was a lovely festival. No presents, of course, because we don’t have the money, but we went to the festival and ate with Rebecca and Jeffrey. It was…very nice. It felt homey and safe in a way I haven’t in a long time. It felt warm to be with my husband and my best friend and my real mother, eating Christmas dinner together. 

 

27 December 1622

I can’t believe it’s 1623 in just a few days. I think for the new year I’ll resolve to see this to the end, no matter what. No matter what it is in Simonn’s dreams, no matter how much it hurts, I’m going to push through and keep going. I’ll be alright. 

 

30 December 1622

I just remembered something Hannah told me, back when Damara was born. I’m going to outlive Sigmun. I’m going to be older than he ever gets to be. What if the thing in Simonn’s dreams is the thing that kills my love? I don’t know…I don’t know how I can manage to do anything if I can’t be with them. If they’re not there with me, I’m not sure I can fight back the melancholy. If I’m not with them, I can’t help them through whatever happens. 

How am I supposed to raise a daughter like Hannah says I will without them? I can’t raise a little girl on my own. Sigmun was a better father than I a mother and I don’t know how I can raise a daughter on my own. 

 

31 December 1622

It’s the last day of 1622. 

“What are you doing for the new year?” my love asked last night. 

“I’m going to see this through to the end,” I said. 

“Me too. And I’m going to be here for all of you.”

“My love, I’m here for you too.” 

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

We talked for a while about nothing, and then he went to bed, and a few minutes later Simonn woke up. 

“I--Di.”

“It’s late, Si.”

“I know. I just--I had another dream.” 

“Yes?” 

“It’s soon. It’s coming,” he said. “It’s this year. It’s going to end this year.” 

“This year?”

He nodded, and my heart caught in my throat. 

“I love you,” I said. “You’re my best friend and I love you.”

“I love you too,” he said. 

It’s coming. In less than twelve months, most of my family will be dead. 

It hurt when Luke died, and it hurt when my mother hurt me, and it hurt in March in 1612, but I don’t think I can imagine how much this will hurt.


	65. Tea and Sympathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The revolution continues, but there are some surprising changes coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes this is late! Finals last term really messed me up, so sorry. I only have one writing course this term though, so hopefully I'll be on time for the next ten weeks. Thanks for bearing with me, as always!
> 
> This chapter brought to you by Major Plot Overhaul.

1 January 1623

New Year’s today. Dolora’s been worrying about Simonn and me, and Sigmun too but not in the same way. I know she’s been worrying because last night (nightmares don’t recognize most holidays, unfortunately) she joined us around the fire. 

“I know I’ve said it before, but it’s coming,” Simonn said. 

“And we don’t know when, exactly,” I said. 

“Soon.” 

“Soon?” Dolora asked, sitting across from us. 

Simonn jumped about a foot in the air and immediately ducked his head, anxious. He practically radiates it sometimes. 

“Simonn has been having nightmares,” I said. “He’s hoping they’ll go away soon with some of my tea.” 

Dolora nodded quietly, but I could tell she didn’t quite believe me. I’m a very good liar but Dolora’s more perceptive than that. She’s my mother. 

“Can you tell me a little of what happens in these nightmares?” she asked Simonn. 

“I--I’m not sure,” he said. “I can’t usually tell. It’s dark and cold and I’m afraid.” 

“Kind of like mine,” I said. “So we think maybe it’s melancholy?” 

“Well, I don’t claim any expertise on melancholy,” Dolora said. “But I imagine nightmares could be a part of it. Let me make some tea.” 

“Dolora--”

“If you won’t talk to me about whatever it is you’re seeing, at least let me make you some tea to help you sleep,” she said, putting the kettle over the fire on that odd little iron device we use. “Wake me up any time you need to talk. If you want to tell me what’s going on, I’ll be here for you.” 

When the tea was made (St. John’s wort for melancholy and the one she uses for nightmares) and she was back in her tent, Simonn said, “I don’t know how much longer we can keep this from then.”

“We might not have to.” 

He didn’t say anything, but he also didn’t finish his tea. 

 

5 January 1623

A letter came today from Neolla. She doesn’t write often, so I knew it was important. And it turns out it’s extremely important; she and Mariek have been writing to the villages we mention and it seems that more and more people are willing to march into the city. I don’t know how we’re going to coordinate it, but Sigmun’s finally picked a day: the first of May. If all goes well, we’ll quit traveling sometime in early April and then spend that month gathering people, making sure everyone who wants to can get to the city in time. Most of them have never left home before so it’ll be quite the thing. 

I’m a little afraid, as always, but I’m sure it’ll work out. We might just have some time left. Maybe we’ll even win! I know Simonn’s dreams are guarantees as far as he’s concerned, but I imagine there’s a world where Annabelle and Christopher and Margaret and Joanne and Isabella are still alive and there’s a world where he’s always wrong. 

It’s terrible that I want him to be wrong, but I don’t want to die. 

 

8 January 1623

We leave this town in two days. It’s astonishing how quickly time seems to move. We’re only going to visit six more towns before we set the bigger plan into motion. Obviously we haven’t been able to visit every town in the country, but we’ve seen enough. Sigmun planned out ahead of time, picking the biggest towns or the ones who were most likely to be dissatisfied. I remember when this was just a dream in his head and he had that map he didn’t want me to see yet. 

 

12 January 1623

Lessons start tomorrow. We’ve had to move the reading and writing ones inside the church again, but the hunting ones can really only be outside, so we’re stuck with that. If I can turn the animals we catch into more warm furs so more people can practice hunting, all the better. My one nice pair of gloves are really starting to wear out from all the use. 

 

15 January 1623

A speech today, like every Sunday. I did what I always do--wrote it down, translated into a few languages I can do more quickly (French and Russian and German, that sort). 

Candas sent another letter. She keeps sending letters, and the tone of them…I don’t know what to think. She seems genuine. Before, when she wrote or talked to us, she seemed a little artificial and scary. But now…maybe Sigmun got through to her. It’s dangerous to entertain hope this way, when Simonn’s still having his dreams, but a part of me wants so badly to believe that she’s changed and is on our side. 

 

19 January 1623

I sent Neolla a letter yesterday, asking her if Candas has changed at all lately. They see her more often than we do, so she and Mariek might have some insight as to whether or not she’s changed. 

It would be nice. 

 

22 January 1623

This is going to sound insane, but I think Simonn’s stopped having nightmares. I usually notice when he wakes up, and when I wake up on my own he’s not around the fire. He looks better-rested and less ill. Maybe it’s just the tea. 

 

25 January 1623

A new town today. Usual teaching, usual speeches, usual people. Unusual high amount of guards. I thought Candas was supposed to keep them off our trail, but maybe she doesn’t have enough influence. Or maybe she thinks she’s protecting us. I don’t think she knows that the man who attacked me was a guard. I only ever told my family that. 

Simonn’s definitely been having fewer nightmares. I haven’t, but then mine are connected to the past rather than the future. Maybe we’ve changed something? Maybe somehow we’ve avoided the future that we all dread so very much. 

I can only hope. 

 

29 January 1623

We’re sleeping on the sanctuary pews, as usual, and teaching in the church, and my backache is just getting worse and worse. Dolora tried to give me some of her blankets, but she’s older than me and her back must be aching too. I sleep better when I sleep cuddled up with Sigmun, and it does seem to help the backache, but the pews are narrow and anyways, we have appearances to maintain. 

It frustrates me, this image of a perfectly chaste couple we keep up. I know that since I can’t have children it would be sin in the eyes of the world if we weren’t, but isn’t it our goal to disturb these harmful ideals? I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable talking to people about my personal life quite openly, because it’s mine and his and no one else’s, but at least we could sleep close together and be comfortable. 

A woman named Abigail was at the talk today. Afterwards she came up to me and we chatted some, about the things he says and our big plan and about little things, too, about our own lives. She laughed when I told her about all the silly quirky things my family does, and I laughed when she told me about her sisters and how they can be. Sigmun doesn’t always like it when I tell people about these little things, but he understands it makes us more real to them. 

 

1 February 1623

I talked more with Abigail today, and with a friend of hers Rachel. The two of them were very interested in our plan to march to the city, and of course in lessons. I quite like Rachel; she reminds me a bit of Catherine. And Abigail reminds me of Etta--she liked the philosophy books I read from to teach. 

I’ll be sad to leave them, like I always am. I’m usually sad, anyways, so it doesn’t mean much. 

 

4 February 1623

I asked Simonn about his nightmares last night since we’re traveling. 

“I mean…I haven’t been having them as much lately, if that’s what you mean. Not as often, not nearly as bad. I’ve been sleeping nights through.” 

“Lucky.” 

“I’m lucky?”

“Sorry,” I said. “That’s not what I meant. I just haven’t slept the night through in a long time. I don’t much these days…” 

“Are you dreaming about it, too?” 

“No. Just the usual nonsense. Sigmun’s been noticing. He’s gotten good at waking up even when I don’t wake up crying.” 

“You sound irate,” he said dryly. 

“He shouldn’t have to deal with the mess that’s my mind--all the shit it throws me on a daily basis.”

“He’s your husband.”

“And you’re my best friend.”

“So’s he.” 

I rolled my eyes at him but acquiesced because he’s right. I love Sigmun in a dozen different ways and we swore to be there for each other. I know I should confide these things in him but I don’t want to worry him. 

I don’t know what to think. 

 

5 February 1623

I feel awful. 

Last night, I went to talk to Sigmun--to tell him about my nightmares and all. So we sat together around the fire and I told him how I’ve been having nightmares and also how I worry about worrying him with them, and he reassured me that it was alright.

“Is there anything else, love?”

“No,” I said. 

“Dianna, my love, I know you’re not telling me something.” He said it gently, not an accusation, but I felt attacked nonetheless. 

“Leave me alone.” 

“What could it possibly be that you can’t tell me?” 

“Nothing! I’m not--why are you so nosy?” I know I shouldn’t have said that. 

“I’m not trying to get gossip out of you, jeez! Clearly there’s something bothering you and I want to know what! I want to be here for you, but I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s wrong!” 

“Maybe there is something wrong, but I’m not going to tell you about it!” 

“And who will you tell, Simonn?” 

“What the hell are you implying?” 

“Just that for a group of three best friends, it sure seems like two best friends and one left over!”

“Sigmun, you’re--you’re both my best friends!” 

“Then why don’t you act like it?” 

“Maybe if you could clear your busy schedule for long enough to act like you loved me I’d feel a bit more motivated!” 

“What the hell do you expect me to do? We’re starting a damn revolution--I’m sorry if I don’t spend all my time making you feel special!” 

I was so furious with him that I could hardly speak. “Pull your head out of your sanctimonious ass before you even think of talking to me again. Fine saint you are, preaching to the world about compassion and kindness when you can’t show some to you own damn wife!” That wasn’t fair of me to say. I was just so angry. 

His face was redder than I’ve ever seen it. “I’m not sure we’re even married anymore! You’re keeping secrets from me and--” 

I stalked off before he could finish. I know that was immature, but I also knew we were only going to get angrier. I found a good tree and climbed it and just sat there until it started getting dark and I had to walk back. We don’t have another bedroll, so I bunched up most of Sigmun’s blankets on top of him and slept on the floor of the tent. It wasn’t comfortable, but I wasn’t going to sleep curled up with him. Not in a million years. 

I’m still angry. I know we have to put on a nice face for the next village, but I’m so angry I’m trembling. Simonn and Dolora can both tell that something’s up, but neither of them will say anything, and I can’t talk to either of them. I don’t know how to…how to handle this. I know I should apologize for the things I said, and I know I should at least own up to keeping something from him, but I’m still furious with him for saying those things he knew would hurt me. He knows with everything my mother did to me. He knows that I never feel good about myself and that being with him is one of the only times I don’t feel like a failure. How could he? 

I’m not going to be able to write anymore. I think I might cry. 

 

7 February 1623

Sigmun and I haven’t spoken except about our work since we fought. It hurts more than I thought it would. I know I should apologize but I’m scared to, and I’m so afraid that this is the end for us. What if we can’t fix it and we end up like those couples in the village who hate each other but can’t leave? 

I have to talk to him. I…I’ll do it tomorrow. I’ll tell him sorry and if he apologizes, too, then maybe we can work this out. 

 

8 February 1623

It’s very late, and I’m up by candlelight, but I could cry from relief. 

Today after everyone had gone and it was just us, and Dolora was cooking, Simonn took a walk like he does so it was just Sigmun and I. I fidgeted for a moment and then blurted, “I’m sorry!”

He looked up at me with the oddest expression on his face and before he could say anything, I squinted my eyes shut and said, all at once, “I have been keeping something from you and it’s not fair of me to expect you to be here for me when we have all this to do and I’m sorry I don’t act like I love you and--and I’m sorry.” 

“I--Di--Disciple, I’m sorry too--I know you and Simonn love me and it’s not fair to be jealous of your friendship. I’m so sorry I said such awful things to you and it’s not fair of me to act like you wanting to feel loved isn’t important and I’m sorry I pushed you to tell me whatever it is, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.” 

I wanted to cry but instead I just leaned forward to hug him and he hugged me back and I was just so relieved, because we were going to be okay. 

“We need to talk about this,” I said quietly. 

“I know,” he said. “Whatever it is that you won’t tell me…I just want to know if there’s anything I can do.” 

I shook my head. “I’ll tell you after we go to the city. I swear I will. I just…I can’t, right now. I need to think through it. Write about it and all.”

“Alright,” he said. “Alright. I…I think we need to do this differently. Be married.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“We can’t do things the same we did at home, when we were there. We can’t be married that way anymore--but it doesn’t mean I love you any less, or that you love me any less. It’s just that we’re starting a revolution and we can’t do things the same way we always have, you know?” His words kept spilling out, tripping on each other, and I knew he was right. 

“Yes,” I said. “We keep trying to pull ourselves back to the way it was, but we can’t. We need to move forward.” 

He nodded and leaned forward to kiss me, and I kissed him back, soft and sweet. “I love you so much. I’ll never stop loving you. I wish I could show you I love you like I used to…”

“I do too,” I said. “I know I don’t act like I love you sometimes and I just wish I knew how. My love, just tell me you love me. Please.” 

He looked at me, so sad like he might cry. “I’m so sorry. I never realized I stopped…” 

“We can do little things for each other,” I said. “We don’t have the time for anniversaries or dinners, but…” I plucked a dandelion from the grass and tucked it behind his ear. “I think you are as bright as this dandelion and I love you.” 

He blushed and then kissed the tip of my nose. “I love you, too.” 

It felt like a long conversation, but we were laughing at each other and throwing dandelions at each other by the time Dolora had finished dinner. 

We can’t go out into the woods, but my goodness I wanted to. Maybe the next town the local reverend will let us stay in his home. I sure hope so! 

 

12 February 1623

A speech today, like every Sunday. Lessons, like always, and hunting for dinner, as usual. It’s a little frightening how routine this whole thing has become. We’re starting a revolution! Shouldn’t it be more exciting? 

Sigmun gave me a bunch of wildflowers today--snowdrops, mostly. They were lovely and I braided them into my hair and when Jen asked about them, I told her the flowers were from my husband. 

It’s not like it was before. It never will be. But it’s different, and it’s going to be okay. 

 

16 February 1623

Sigmun and I held hands while we were traveling today, something we haven’t done for a long, long time. I don’t know why. It’s a nice feeling, and we’re usually not so rushed these days. It doesn’t bother Simonn or Dolora and it makes me feel close to him. 

Simonn hasn’t been having many nightmares. I wonder if this means that we’ve done something right. Maybe we managed to avoid that terrible future he feared so much. 

On the other hand, Sigmun’s voices are getting louder. When they’re at their worst, he’ll lie down in the tent and refuse to come out--either from exhaustion or from fear. People ask and so I’ve been telling them that my love has been dealing with a fever lately and needs lots of rest. The truth of it is that when the voices are loud, it’s like…it’s like he’s not quite there, sort of like when something sets me off and I can feel my mother’s hands around my throat and smell her breath on my face. 

I worry about him. I know it’s getting worse and I don’t think Dolora has herbs for this, whatever it is. I wish I knew what to do to help him, but he doesn’t know himself. I just try to be there for him; I’ll hold him close and tell him he’s safe with us, but I’m not sure he can even hear me. 

I’m scared. 

 

19 February 1623

A speech today, as usual. When he’s speaking the voices quiet, he says. He says when he’s talking to people he knows that the voices are wrong. He always stops short of telling me what exactly they say, maybe to avoid worrying me. But I know they tell him awful things. 

I wish I could help him. But I don’t know how. 

 

23 February 1623

Simonn had one of his nightmares last night. 

“Simonn?” I asked, when I saw him sitting by the fire. He was trembling all over. 

“I had a nightmare,” he said. “I haven’t had one in weeks.”

“Do you still think we’re going to fail?”

He snorted. “Of course. I’ve never had a dream that didn’t come true. But…we have more time, I think. We have more time than I thought.” 

I breathed out a sigh of relief. “Not this year.”

“Not this year,” he agreed, and the relief was fantastic. I sighed out my breath and leaned against his shoulder, feeling so immensely tired. I’d spent so long thinking we were going to die any day and now I’m sure--we’re sure--that we have time. There’s time to love my husband and time to comfort Simonn and time to see Dolora grow old. We have time. 

 

26 February 1623

Today was one of his speeches, and since we’re staying in the preacher’s house, my love and I have been sleeping together much more often. It feels…odd, somehow. He preaches about religion in the morning, a Sunday no less, but the things he’ll whisper to me at night when we’re trying to hard to be quiet (for the benefit of Reverend Smith, and the rest of our family) are most certainly sinful at best. I know this is silly, but I feel like this week has been us making up, coming to terms with the fact what it will never be like this again. Until it’s over, until we have our own home again, we’re not going to have the chance to be together this way. I know it’s selfish to think this way, but it feels so wonderful to be with him, and I have already given up so many simple pleasures of life. 

I know that it’s not fair of me to want these simple pleasures when so many don’t even have them. It’s not fair for me to want my own bed in my own home, my own room and that lovely garden, the good food we made and the beautiful forest for my backyard, the wonderful nights with my love and the comfort of having my family around me…everything. 

It’s selfish and awful and terrible but I don’t want to give up all these small things. 

 

28 February 1623

I spoke with a woman named Rosamond today. It was the usual: lessons, do I really believe all this is possible, is he really my husband, is it going to be dangerous to go the city, all that. She’s very kind, and she invited me home to see her garden and meet her family. Her husband reminded me of Simonn--he’s the oldest of his family, sharp as a tack, and quite tall. She also had two little daughters, named Madeline and Winifred. They were so active and squirmy, hardly able to sit through dinner. 

I’m back in the room now, and Sigmun’s waiting for me to finish writing. He’s reading one of the romance novels we brought with us, probably for the fifth or sixth time. He looks so…peaceful, I think. His face is calm, smiling ever-so-slightly, and he turns the pages quietly and consistently. 

It’s never going to be like this again. 

I wish it could be like this again.


	66. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is some hope around the fire these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so on time! I'm gonna try to update every week for a little bit, so we'll see how that goes. Thanks as always for bearing with me!

2 March 1623

Sigmun was up late last night around the fire, and so I sat down with him and asked him what was wrong. 

“The voices…they scream at me. They keep saying I’m going to die. I’m going to die for this. They’re telling me…I’m an idiot for thinking I can do this.” 

“You don’t have to be afraid to die, Sigmun.”

He looked up at me in confusion.

“But you also don’t have to die.”

More confusion.

I sat next to him and rested my arm around his shoulders. “You don’t have to be a martyr to lead this to its end.” I know that Simonn thinks we’re going to die, but with the way his dreams have been…I think maybe we might just pull it off. But we’ll never make it if Sigmun doesn’t believe. 

“The odds are that I will be, though.” He can’t know. He must just be afraid. 

“But you don’t have to be! You could keep on living. We don’t have to resign ourselves to a sad ending. We can still make it to the end and live a happy, safe life. My love, you don’t have to die!” 

“Assume I do. What happens then?”

“We carry on!” I all but shouted. “Dolora and Simonn and I, we carry this to the end.”

“No, I mean, what happens to you?”

I thought. “Truthfully?”

“Of course.”

“A part of my heart dies, too. We all grieve and try to move on and fail. Dolora loses her son. Simonn loses one of his best friends. I lose you, and you’ve been my husband for almost nine years and my best friend for twenty-two. But you know what? We’ll all live. I swear it.”

“Promise me that.”

“What?”

“That you’ll keep living if I die. You won’t…kill yourself.”

I swallowed. “I swear it. On all our lives. But you have to, too.”

“I swear it, too. On all our lives.”

Nothing for a brief time.

“I don’t want to die,” he said, so quietly I could barely hear him.

“Of course not. No one does. As long as I can do anything about it, you won’t. I can’t make any promises, but…I will do everything I can to keep you safe.”

“And I will too.”

He leaned over to kiss me and there was this horrible feeling, like this might be the last time we ever kissed. I wanted him so badly in that moment to stay alive forever, right up to the day I die. I just hate the idea of losing him, of losing any of them. Even right now, before I put out this candle and go to the tent to sleep, I can’t help but feel an ache inside as I recall the safety from sleeping on our bed at home, my baby asleep in his crib and my head resting on my love’s chest to hear his heartbeat.

Not that I don’t sleep comfortably next to him here, too, but I know I’m not safe. This isn’t safe. It’s sort of a complicated feeling. I want to make this world safe for everyone, no matter who they are. But to do that, I must compromise my own safety. I have no problem risking things for the sake of helping my family, my whole country. But I don’t want to die.

I don’t know why it’s so cowardly to want to stay alive. I don’t want to die. I want to stay alive. In all the books, it’s cowardly to choose to live. I don’t think martyrdom is the only way to be brave. I think living despite all the odds is just as brave as dying for your cause.

I just don’t see what’s so cowardly about life if that’s the only thing people live for.

 

5 March 1623

We’re in a new town and it’s a Sunday, so a speech today as always. I’ve been sleeping better since Simonn hasn’t been waking up, and I think that despite his relentless pessimism we’ve done something right. Heaven only knows what, but I think we’re safe for a little while longer. I know when the times comes I’ll want more time, because everyone does, but having more time right now, when my love and I have finally started to fix what’s wrong, is such a blessing. 

 

8 March 1623

I got him flowers today. It was just a little bouquet of wildflowers from the woods, but it made him smile and he kissed me on the cheek and told me he loved me. I try to tell him I love him as often as I can, and show him too, because we just can’t do things the same way we used to. 

 

12 March 1623

I met a woman named Esotte--not Iseult like the French story--today at lessons. She was very good at hunting and she shot a few squirrels for stew, because it’s a Sunday again so of course we cook for everyone. It still exhausts me. I’ve slept through a couple of his speeches because I just get so tired. He says similar things every time, and anyways I can always ask him later if I want to. 

 

15 March 1623

We leave tomorrow. This next town is the last town before we set the larger plan in motion. People are angry enough that they’re ready to come with us to the city and tell the king how angry they are. I’m just…I’m so excited I can hardly contain myself. Of course I’m terrified, but I’m also excited. We’re going to change things, I just know it! 

 

17 March 1623

Candas has been doing lots of work in the palace lately, with the guards and all that. And I know Patrik doesn’t really agree with us, even though he tries to understand. And Sumner just doesn’t agree with the nonviolence of the thing. But people are on our side, and people are getting ready for the march on the city. The date’s been set, too: the first of May. We’ll spend April getting people gathered outside the city as inconspicuously as possible and planning. 

As of right now, this is the plan: the march will begin at noon. We’ll all gather outside the city, in the woods, around eleven. Then we’ll march into the city, to the palace, picking up our city people as we go--sporadic letters from Rose Dolora won’t let us read tell us people there are no happier than those in the villages. It turns out more people than expected want a voice in the government, when given the chance. Not all of them support the level of equality we’re looking for, but establishing a government in which everyone has a voice is a step in the right direction. I hope once the new government’s established, we can start making steps towards equality.

I wonder if people will want us to take a place in the government. I know that’s how revolutions tend to work, but frankly I would not like to be in government. It’s too much responsibility and too much power. I think Sigmun would be a good leader, and Dolora, and maybe Simonn (even if he gets grumpy sometimes). I’d rather not be in some position of great political power; it makes me anxious just to think about it. If I had to, I’d much rather deal with the social side of things; setting up programs for widows and widowers and orphans, talking with people on a personal level about equality, being diplomatic with the royals and nobles who will lose the status they’ve relied on for so long.

I don’t know if I’m more afraid of succeeding or failing, sometimes.

 

20 March 1623

Sigmun and I were awake last night, all wrapped around each other like we do, and I asked him.

“If we succeed…if this works. Will you be the leader?”

“I think the people will have to decide. But I’d take the position if offered.”

“I’m so scared of that.”

“Why?”

“Having power is frightening!”

“I think you’d be good at it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You’re fair, and you want to help people, and you’re not inclined to abuse power.”

“I think you’d be a better leader!”

He looked at me, questioning, and I added, “Because you’re a natural. You know how to talk to people, how to appeal to people. How to set up systems and networks. You’d be a good leader.”

“I reckon if we worked together--all of us--we’d be good leaders. We all have different talents, so we could all work together. I mean, that’s the whole point of this!”

“Yes, I suppose.” I sighed. “It’s just never going to be the same. We’ll never go back to living in that house in the woods with just us four and our little one and that town we were born in, the people we knew…we’re never going to go back. And that makes me sad. Or something more complicated than that. Nostalgic perhaps?”

He nodded. “I know what you mean. I’m going to miss home. But there’s no going back now.”

I sighed and curled closer, resting my head on his chest so I could hear his heartbeat. It’s always been a comfort to me to hear his heart beating, to know he’s still there. “I’ll always love you. No matter what happens.”

“And I will always love you. When all is said and done, we’ll still be married, and I’ll still love you. Maybe we can adopt children someday, and maybe we’ll lead the country, who knows. But we’re still going to be a family.”

“Of course. I hope we can adopt children someday, but…after all this.”

Sigmun nodded, I think, and kissed the top of my head. “After all this. Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight, my love.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

 

24 March 1623

Today we got letters from some of the towns we left behind, and it looks like people are preparing to travel towards our given location. I’m quite excited! We’ve been working for a long time towards this, and it looks like it might come to fruition. 

 

26 March 1623

After his speech today, when I was talking to people, a very familiar woman walked up to me and asked me if I remembered her. 

“Etta? Oh my goodness! I--call me Disciple.”

“Why?” 

“For our hometown’s safety,” I said. “How have you been?”

“I’ve been alright. My mother…she passed away.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said. 

“It’s alright,” she says. “It’s been three years. I’m the seamstress in this town. My brother got married, and my father’s doing alright. My brother and I take care of him. What about you?” 

“I…well, you remember Si--Signless, who I was seeing. He’s my husband now. We got married in June after you left, and we had a baby named Luke…he passed when he was fourteen months old.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Etta said softly. 

“Thank you,” I said. “We…I can’t have children. If we come out of this alive, we were hoping to adopt a little one.” 

“That sounds lovely,” she said. “I see from all this you haven’t changed much.”

“You neither!” I said, laughing. “Have you been reading much?” 

“When I can,” she said. “I’m so busy these days. Although…” She smiled a little. “There’s a man I’ve had my eye on. Oliver Mason. He’s about my age, well-established and all, and he’s a good man. Like yours, almost.” 

“Really! I’m glad for you.”

“Well, if I get to thirty without marrying him, I’ll be quite the old maid,” she laughed. “But he seems to feel the same, right now. So we’ll see.”

“Best of luck,” I said. “Is he here?”

“Of course,” she said, laughing. “I’d never consider the kind of man who wouldn’t be!” 

“Indeed,” I said. “You should come to the hunting lessons sometime, they’re great fun.” 

“I think I will,” Etta said. 

“Then I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said. “I have to go prepare dinner.” 

“Alright, Di--Disciple.” 

I waved as I went off to hunt and help Dolora with the stew. 

I’m glad to see Etta again. I think if she’d stayed in town we would’ve been close friends. I did miss her when she left, and I just hope she’s happy here. I hope Oliver’s good for her. I hope she’s happy. 

 

29 March 1623

I can’t believe how soon it is! In just a little more than a month we’ll be in the city, with Candas on our side and all. I just…I can’t believe it. 

I’ve been talking a lot with Etta, just catching up and all. I met her family and they seem very nice. I see how they raised someone like Etta. 

 

31 March 1623

We’re traveling home right now. We left this morning and we’re heading home right now. I almost can’t believe it. We haven’t been home in ages, and not all together in…two years. Dolora and my love haven’t been home in that long. We’ll be home for most of April, sending letters and traveling around if we can--mostly day or two-day trips, maybe three at most. 

It’ll be nice to be home for a little bit. It’ll be a break before we really get started. 

Simonn hasn’t had any dreams. We’re going to be okay. I think we might just pull this off.


	67. It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final preparations for the Big Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is kind of a short chapter because it is a little shorter than normal, so the update is quick, but I'll be back to my normal schedule after this. Thanks for continuing to read! :)

1 April 1623

We’ve been traveling fast these days, trying to get home as quickly as possible. It’s going to be lovely to get to sleep in my own bed with my husband again. I think we’re slowly working our way to a new kind of marriage, one that works with the new way we’re living our lives. I miss the old way we were married, but this new way is nice too. 

 

4 April 1623

We’ll be home in just two days! I almost can’t believe it. It’s been so long since I’ve been home with my family that I almost can’t believe it’s going to happen. I wonder how the garden is going to look, after being abandoned for so long. I hardly had time to tend to it last time we were here. Dolora’s going to be quite upset that it’s so overgrown, but she’ll tend to it and fix it like always. 

 

6 April 1623

We’re home! I’m writing this at my old desk, my mother-in-law is in the garden patiently weeding it and watering all the plants, my best friend is in the village with Hannah and their daughter and all his siblings, and my husband is lying on our bed reading peacefully. The sun is shining through the window at a lovely angle that shines on every wispy flyaway of his curly hair. He’s so lovely. If I kissed him right now, I think he would kiss me back and unlace my corset like he does and make me gnaw on his shoulder so I don’t cry out. 

But I’ll wait until evening to do that. Right now I’ll write, and then read some, and help Dolora cook dinner, and catch up with all my friends in the village. It’s so nice to be home. 

 

8 April 1623

We’ve been planning so much lately. Every day we meet with Neolla and Mariek and sometimes even Sumner to plan everything out. We’ve been sending letters, and Candas says she’ll be here on April tenth to discuss everything. 

We’re so close. 

 

10 April 1623  
         
We are so close! I can’t believe it. Candas is going to be here in a few hours to have tea and plan. Dolora’s brewing tea right now and I’m just sitting here at my desk jittering. Simonn’s trying to calm me down, but there’s no way I can be any less excited than I am. We’re going to change things. We’re going to do this. 

 

16 Apirl  
         
Oh my goodness…I can’t write. It’s too hard. Somebody wake me up from this nightmare. I’d even take waking up in that cell in Candas’s—the Condesce’s castle to this.  
         
Sigmun…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you really think it was going to end well?


	68. Suffering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things have gone terribly wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Consider this chapter rated M. Warnings for torture, body horror, death, some gore/blood, mentions of suicide, and general sadness. Mind the tags, please, for this chapter and the next four or five.

19 April 1621

Simonn was right. Of course he was. He knew about Candas, about how this would end. I wish I’d listened. I wish I’d tried harder to persuade Sigmun to keep her at an arm’s length. I wish I could go back in time to the first day Sigmun told me he had an idea and refuse to go. 

I have to write about this. I have no one left to talk to about it. 

It started in the afternoon on the tenth, when we were all sitting around the table at home with tea working out the larger plan, how to mobilize large groups of regular people around the country without some way to communicate instantaneously. I heard a knock on the door and since Candas said she’d sneak out to help us with strategy, I assumed it was her. It was Candas, but it was also two dozen guards ready to take us away. I panicked and screamed and tried to run but the guards were on us in an instant. I tried to reach out to hold Sigmun’s hand, and then Simonn’s, but they were both torn away from me and I could feel the cold shackles and I remembered everything Simonn ever told me about his nightmares, and I could see he did too. 

We didn’t march through any villages, just the forest, and it was night by the time we were in the city. I have no idea if they wanted to surprise the world or what. I suppose I’ve always been afraid of the dungeons in a vague sort of sense, but I didn’t really understand what it’s like down there. 

We were all in the same block of cells, but we were each alone. The walls were thick, but since the front of each was just an iron cage we could talk to each other, even if just a little. It was some comfort, because heaven knows I have never survived anything like this without my family. The guards stripped us and threw us in those cells. I don’t know why they didn’t shackle us to the wall, like I know they do, but I don’t care much. I know as well that true torture is going out of style but it seems that Candas’s family held onto some of their old equipment, or perhaps she just really hates what we tried to do. Obviously we were given no food, and only enough water to keep screaming. 

I wish my love was here, because I just want right now to be held, and so I can hold him and comfort him and tell him I’m alright, I’ll live. I wish Simonn was here because I just want to talk to him and because I know he would need someone to talk to, too. I wish Dolora was here because she is my mother and because for once in my life, I want to do something for her. 

I have to write about the torture. I can’t just keep it in--I think it might just kill me for good. 

They mostly just whipped us and beat us. It hurt terribly, but after a while it just stopped getting worse--I stopped feeling anything at all. I just felt numb inside, like when my baby first passed and I just walked around in a bubble for months. 

I could stand the whipping, the bones they broke, the fingers they cut off (just the two, perhaps because they liked to taunt me for reading and writing). But…they worked out that Sigmun and I were married, either from Candas or our rings, and decided to whip us in front of each other. I have never heard him scream like that and it just tore me apart inside. I tried not to respond because I knew it would hurt him but it hurts me to see him in pain and when they hit me it hurt so badly, more than anything my mother ever did to me. 

By the time they were done with us for the day on the…the third day, I think, I felt dizzy and confused, and quite weak too. Everything hurt and all I could think to do was lie on the floor on my stomach and try very hard to breathe. 

“My love?” Sigmun called. 

“Yes?” I said, maybe. 

“Come to the door.” 

I dragged myself to my feet and leaned against the wall to get to the door. “What?”

“Here.” He handed me his cloak, and I could just barely reach it from him. 

“How did you…?” I tried to ask, but my voice hurt and I couldn’t get my thoughts in order. 

“I don’t know. They didn’t take it,” he said. “Use it for your back.”

“You need it.” 

“I don’t. You can hardly speak and I’m fine. Take it.” 

“I…alright,” I said. I took it from him and tried to bandage my own back but I was still disoriented and dizzy, so it was a mediocre job at best. Nonetheless, it worked well enough that I’m not dead--I think, anyways. I didn’t bleed to death in the dungeon. 

By the time they sent us back the fourth evening, my love was completely hysterical and I tried to talk to him, to tell him I was there and I wasn’t dead but he couldn’t hear me, not over those voices in his head. I wasn’t in great shape either, because I worked out the third day that the water they gave us was laced with some sort of poison. I know that because it made me throw up so badly my throat burned. Even now I feel weak and tired, and I don’t know if that’s the blood, the poison, or the terrible sadness. Maybe I’ll die from the poison now and I won’t have to keep living. I don’t want to keep living. I swore to my love that I would but I don’t want to, not anymore. There’s nothing left for me here. Everything that matters is gone. 

They did not cut off my ring finger and so right now I am wearing my rings but it makes me hurt to look at them. They knew we were married even though we were at home so we weren’t wearing our rings. I put his on his finger before I buried him but I don’t know if that means anything or if he cares wherever he is now. I don’t know if he is anywhere now. The last time I saw him…he’d lost a leg, all the way to the hip. If he is anywhere, I don’t know how he is. Is he in pain? What about his leg? 

On the second-to-last day, I remember I finally asked him about something I was wondering about for a long time but never really found the…I don’t know what, courage I guess, to ask. 

“My love?” I asked. 

“Yes?” he said, and his voice was thick and hoarse with blood. 

“How was it so easy for you?”

“What, seeing you hurt? My love, it’s not easy.”

“No, no. I mean. Being good. You were always just so…good.” 

“I…love, everyone is good.” 

“But you…I was always so angry! The people who hurt you, who said and did terrible things for their own power or gain--I was so angry at them and you seemed to always be so good.” 

I didn’t hear anything from him for a long time, and then, “My love, do you remember when Luke…died?” 

“Of course I do.” 

“And you remember how I broke that vase?” 

“Yes.” 

“I was angry then. You weren’t.” 

“It’s had to be angry when you’re just empty inside.” 

“I know. I just mean…you weren’t angry. And I was. I…I’m exactly as angry as you all are. I guess I’m just the best at covering it up.” 

“You really think everyone is a good person, don’t you?”

“Of course I do.”

“You think I’m a good person.” 

“I do. My love, I’ve known you twenty-one years, and loved you almost as long. I proposed to you. We’ve been married almost seven years. I know you’re a good person.” 

“I couldn’t have kids.” 

“Then the church is wrong.” 

He’s implied that a lot, before, but never outright said it. “My love, aren’t you heretical enough?” 

“Not until the church helps instead of hurts,” he said. 

I let out a sigh, and then slumped against the wall closest to him. “Love?”

“Hm?”

“Five things you like about yourself.” 

“You’re not serious,” he said. 

“Dead serious.” 

“Please don’t say that, we’re dead in days.” 

“I know. Five things, love.” 

“Fine. I’m clever. I loved everyone we met. I…I’ve forgiven her. I’m brave. And…I changed the world. Your turn.” 

“Ugh.” 

“Fair’s fair, love.” 

“Fine. I’m a good teacher. I’m intelligent. I loved those people we met. I…I love you all. And I think I changed the world, too.”

“Of course you did,” he said with that voice of his, the one that could convince anyone of anything.

“I love you so much.” 

“I love you too,” he said, and then the guards came back to torture us again. 

I can’t get his screams out of my head. Even now I can hear him screaming as they whipped me, crying and begging for them to stop. I think I remember…I think I remember, the last night I was there, when I’d lost a lot of blood and they’d hit me hard on the head and I didn’t feel real, hearing Candas herself down there. She told my love…she held a knife to my throat, I think, and threatened to slit my neck right then and there. I didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything about it but I think I remember my love begging her to take him instead and I wanted to tell him no, never, but I couldn’t make my lips move. I couldn’t stop it. 

And then on the last day, I think, my love…he…I can’t explain it. It just all came crashing down. 

“My love,” he said. “My love, I’m so sorry.” 

“What? Why?” 

“This is my fault. If it wasn’t for me, none of you would be here. If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be…be hurting this way.”

“It is not your fault, my love. Not one bit. You had no way of knowing this would happen. I--if anything, it’s my fault.” 

“No it damn well is not. Why would you even say that?”

“Remember how I wasn’t telling you something?” I asked. 

“Yes…?” 

“Simonn dreamed this. He dreamed that we would fail. And he told me and we never told you or Dolora because we knew you would drive yourself mad trying to protect us and--and--” I was crying again, and I’m not sure why. “--And so it’s my fault. I should’ve--I should’ve told you…” 

There was silence for a long moment, and then I heard him say, very quietly, “No. You were right.” 

“What?”

“If you’d told me…I am mad, but I would’ve driven myself so if you told me. It’s not your fault.” Then, after a moment, “It’s hers.” 

“Hers?”

“Candas’s. She’s the reason we’re here. We can’t blame ourselves when she is the one who brought us here, literally.” 

“Yes,” I said vaguely. “My love, I know we’ve fought and everything…but I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. I always will.” 

“I love you too,” he promised. “More than anything.” 

“Can you tell Simonn and Dolora and Hannah that I love them?” I asked. 

“Of course,” he said, and a few moments later he said, “They all say they love you, too.” 

So that last night there was a little moment of peace before Candas woke us up on Easter Sunday to bring us to watch my love executed. 

She didn’t kill Dolora or Simonn. She sold them. Mariek “bought” Dolora but that look on her face…I don’t think Mariek is quite sane anymore. Dolora was crying, quietly, her hair long since fallen out of that perfect way she styles it. I wanted to reach out for her but this guard--a young one--was holding me back, pinching my wrists in the most painful way he could. Candas “bought” Simonn herself, and…in his dreams, when he can’t see. Someone cut out his eyes. There were just these gaping holes and I almost fainted seeing that. I saw her hold his hands behind his back and I saw her whispering to him, and she must’ve been saying terrible things to him…

I couldn’t find Hannah, and I’m afraid because I thought I heard someone talking about her daughter and nothing gets to Hannah like her daughter. I don’t know what could’ve happened but I’m afraid. I don’t know what happened to Neolla either, but I hope her status protected her, somehow. 

They took my love next. They made him stand with his one leg on a pile of burning coals and stretched his hands above his head and put his wrists in these awful, white-hot irons. I could hear him screaming and I heard Dolora cry out but I tried not to listen because I couldn’t stand it, I couldn’t. I could see the sweat beading on his face and he was crying and screaming and it hurt. I pulled his cloak tighter around me (we were allowed to wear clothes for the execution, I guess so we’d be decent for the public), but kept the hood down so he could see me. 

When he had run out of tears he started…well, he wasn’t preaching. It was nothing like his old speeches. It was all the anger he never expressed, every time he shattered a plate when our little Luke died, every person who hurt us when we were young who pushed him to start this, everyone he trusted who betrayed us. I’ve only ever heard him curse before a few times but this was laden with every foul word Dolora told us never to use. But his voice gave out after too long and he was just crying quietly and I wanted to scream but I couldn’t make a sound. 

I saw the executioner raise his bow and arrow and I knew that they were going to shoot him in the lung, symbolically I’m sure. I knew it would make him die slowly and I wanted to stop it, to make it okay. I started fighting the guard holding me back, because I knew if I could get up there they might not shoot me, because they wanted to drag out his pain as much as possible. 

I finally broke free of the guard, and I think I might’ve broken my wrist in the process (it’s hard to tell). I threw myself towards the stage I didn’t even feel the coals searing my feet (though now I have scars there, too). But I wasn’t tall enough to protect him like I should have. I wanted to take the arrow for him. I wanted to guard his life with my own but I couldn’t. 

When I was standing there, shaking all over, I heard him choke, “Run. Go. Please…” 

“No,” I said. I don’t know how I could talk. 

“Go…” 

“I love you.” 

“Don’t die for me.” 

“I won’t let them hurt you anymore.” 

“Don’t, please…” 

“Sigmun, I would do anything for you.” 

“Please…I’m dead. I love you. You promised me…go live.” 

I was crying again but I couldn’t bring myself to be ashamed of it. “I’m not leaving. Not now.” 

“I love you,” he choked, and he tried to say more but his voice was gone.

“I love you too,” I promised, and then the executioner fired the arrow and it hit him right in the heart. He coughed again, and then he screamed, and then he died and I wanted to scream but I felt paralyzed, frozen, and his head fell forward and they cut the chains and he fell into a heap and I couldn’t breathe around the heartbeat in my throat. 

A guard--the young one, I think--forced me to my knees, and I couldn’t muster up the strength to resist. I felt the coals on my knees and I didn’t care anymore. There was nothing left for me, nothing at all. Everyone I’d ever loved was dead or so far gone I doubted I could ever bring them back--I saw the look in Dolora’s eyes and on Simonn’s face when my love screamed his last. I welcomed death. 

When I looked up at the executioner, I recognized him all at once. It was Patrik, my old friend. I don’t know if I hate him for it but he murdered my love and was about to murder me for my support of something I thought he understood. The arrow was on his drawn bowstring, exactly the way he taught me when we were young, ready to fly and let me die my bloody death. 

I met his eyes and I was angry, angrier than I’ve been in a long while. And I’ve spent the last two years of my life being much too outspoken for my own good. Patrik had the arrow aimed right at my heart, but he didn’t fire just yet. So I started talk to him. 

“Are you really going to do it, Patrik?” I asked, and he looked shocked. I saw his aim waver. “We’ve been friends since we were children. Remember I taught you how to make crowns out of flowers when we were seven? And you taught me how to use a bow and arrow when we were thirteen. And now you’re going to use what you taught me against me? You’re going to use the only thing that kept me alive to kill me? This--all this--and these people, do they still matter to you more than your friends? Don’t you remember not a year ago when you and I sat down over tea and just spent time together, like friends? Do you remember when we were fifteen and you stopped talking to me because you were above talking to commoners? You didn’t talk to any of us for a year! Don’t you see how you lost friends for this? Don’t you see what’s happening? You said it yourself--we all bleed red. If you shoot me right now my blood will be as red as yours! 

“You killed him, so why don’t you kill me?” It was an insane thing to say, but I was feeling a bit out of my mind. Sigmun’s corpse behind me, the coals under my feet, the chains, my family sold to people I thought were friends--it all felt so unreal. “There’s no reason you shouldn’t. We were friends once, but I don’t imagine that means anything anymore. If power means so much more than love, then kill me.” 

I stood up and held out my arms, and I knew I’d crumple and fall and die and then I’d never have the chance to do anything else, help anyone else, but I just didn’t care anymore. I might’ve been a little mad, but I wanted to die. 

He dropped the arrow. 

I don’t know where I found the strength, but I lifted Sigmun’s body on my shoulders and ran into the woods. 

I escaped with my life because the entire guard was in shock for a long moment before they pursued me. I grew up in the woods, anyways. I hid in the ditch we fell into all those years ago when we were just sixteen and Sigmun hit his nose on my head so hard it bled. But it’s the strangest thing; the young guard, the average one, caught my eye for just a moment when I was huddled in the ditch, cold and afraid. But I might’ve imagined it, because he shouted, “No one here!” and left. I’m sure Patrik will be granted some pardon for his noble status. I will receive no such luxury. But then, I do not want a pardon. I’ve done nothing wrong. 

Grantt and Orvill and Candas were watching the whole time, of course. They were watching the whole tragedy like some sort of show, like it was an amusing play Mr. Shakespeare just finished. I don’t know if I hate them, either, but a big part of me wants them to hurt. I want them to understand what they’ve done to me--to everyone. 

At any rate, I barely made it to the clearing, which was closer than the house, before I broke down crying again. My whole body hurt--it still does--and everything else ached so badly. My love and my only child, dead. My best friend and real mother, sold. My other friends, gone. I’ve lost everything I’ve ever loved. I’ve lost everything. And they all went through so much pain before they…died. And my love…he tried to trade his life for mine. He saved my life with his cloak. I want to start crying again and I’m sure I have many years of crying left, but right now I need to finish recording this. 

I buried him. I put his wedding ring on his finger and buried him in the clearing where we lied in the forget-me-nots and talked about our futures, where our little Luke is buried. I marked the spot with a stone I’ll have carved if I ever have the money or strength and when I know what to write. They say you can only go to heaven if you’re buried. I want him to go somewhere better than this forsaken world. 

Maybe I’ll find the strength to go back there someday. If not, the forget-me-nots can speak to him for me. 

I hope one day I’ll find that strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are! This is NOT the last chapter, to be clear--Dianna has many more years to live and there are some loose ends I need to tie up (think back to some of the earliest chapters). Thanks for sticking with me for so long; you're all the best!


	69. Murder Is Not A Healthy Coping Mechanism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been seven years since we last saw Dianna, and she has plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags for this chapter are depression, death, murder, body horror, and PTSD (panic attacks and nightmares). 
> 
> Updates may be weekly for a while, because this is actually the part of the story I planned first and have had written for much longer. I can't promise that, but I will do my best!

23 April 1630

I can’t believe it’s been seven years since I’ve written. It seems last time I wrote I dropped my journal down behind my desk and just…didn’t think to look until now. 

I’ve been…alright, I suppose. I’ve lost more weight than I’m sure is healthy for me, and I don’t leave the house much, but I know Simonn and Dolora are still alive somewhere and so I’ve been looking for them as much as I can. Simonn must be somewhere in the palace, but I’ve been inside a few times and I’m never able to find him. I don’t know where he could be, or what kind of work she’s having him do with no eyes. (I dream about his face sometimes, screaming, holes for eyes and blood for tears.) And Mariek has taken to sailing, some sort of privateer I’m sure, and I know Dolora must be with her, but I’ve never been able to get on the ship when I hear about it and go to the city. I just want to help them. 

I visit Sigmun’s grave sometimes. I miss him so much it hurts, and I washed his cloak carefully and I keep it hung up by the door with Simonn’s and Dolora’s and my own. I guess I know it’s not healthy but I’m afraid that if I put anything away it’s going to mean that they’re gone for good. I don’t sleep so well these days without my love next to me, and I don’t eat so much without someone reminding me to. 

I need to find the rest of my family. They need to be okay. 

 

26 April 1630

Mariek’s ship was at the docks today, and I tried to get on board to find Dolora, but I didn’t again. I don’t know why I’m so awful at this. I just keep failing. I need to help her. I need to help him. I need to help them. 

 

29 April 1630

I don’t know what’s wrong with me but there are times when for no reason at all my heart beats much too fast and I can hardly breathe and my neck prickles and all I can think of is that I’m going to die, and there’s nothing I can do about--nothing at all. It’s like I’m feeling everything I felt when my love died and Patrik was about to kill me, but there’s nothing actually that scary, and without that strange calm I felt when I told him to shoot me. Afterwards I’m so tired I can’t think and I just sleep for hours and hours. 

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I still drink my tea when I remember to, except I don’t remember as often since I don’t have anyone to remind me. And I don’t have anyone to talk to like I used to when things were bad. 

I don’t know what to do. 

 

2 May 1630

Mariek’s boat was still at the docks today near the city, on the river, and so I followed her when she got off the boat carrying something large, and heavy I think. She went down to the river and lifted the sheet and it was Dolora, and she was dead. My throat seized up and I felt dizzy and I almost fainted, I think. My heart’s beating too fast even now, thinking of it. She was so pale…so cold. She was dead…

I’m going to go to bed. I can’t bear to be awake. 

 

5 May 1630

I got out of bed today for a reason other than forcing myself to eat, which I suppose is progress. I don’t know what to do. I know I should go try to find Simonn but I don’t know if I have the energy to leave the house. 

 

9 May 1630

I went to the palace today, driven by some desperate need to go look for Simonn. I don’t know how he could live with no eyes--he can’t read or write, hardly leave the house until I make a cane or something--but I can’t imagine she’s treating him well. I’m scared he’s hurting. 

I didn’t find him. It may be time to send Patrik a letter, asking him to look into it. I hate him for what he did sometimes--or, I’m angry with him, at any rate. I just need to know if Simonn is still there, and how he is, and if I can get him out. 

If it’s a short letter and I don’t let him think he can keep in touch with me, because I never want to see his face again, maybe it’ll work. 

 

11 May 1630

I wrote the letter today. It doesn’t say much.   
Dear Executioner,

I am writing you for one reason only: please tell me if Simonn is still alive, and if he is, where I can find him. Do not write me back for any other reason.   
Disciple

I hope he can tell me. 

 

15 May 1630

I’m going to bed after I write this probably for another five days. Patrik wrote me back and he told me that Simonn is dead. 

I’m going to sleep. I don’t want to be awake anymore. 

 

20 May 1630

I got out of bed today, but I’m not sure why. I wasn’t hungry, hardly thirsty at all. I just wandered around the house for a while, not thinking or doing anything. 

I don’t want to be here, but I don’t know where I want to be. 

 

24 May 1630

I don’t think I’m attached to my body anymore. I float along beside it, but it’s not really mine. It’s not the same body I had before all this. I know that sounds absurd, but it doesn’t feel like it’s mine anymore. 

Everything hurts, and nothing does. 

I’m going to sleep again. 

 

27 May 1630

I swore to my love I wouldn’t. But I don’t know how much longer I can take this. Everything hurts all the time and I want to cry but I’m cold and numb and nothing hurts because I can’t feel anything at all. If I die…if I die, I’ll see them again. I’ll hold them again. 

I really hope I’m good enough to go to heaven when I die. I’m not sure I believe in hell, but I’m so scared that even after I die I won’t get to see them again when that’s the only thing holding me together. 

 

31 May 1630

I don’t know what to do. I can hardly move. 

Sometimes I’m so furious with Candas and her lot that I could scream. She betrayed us. She killed two of the people I love the most and let another die. She would’ve killed me if I hadn’t run. I’m so angry with her! 

 

3 June 1630

I think Candas deserves to die. I can get into the palace. I can shoot an arrow fairly accurately. Why shouldn’t I kill her? I’m sure I’m damned already, and she killed my family. Why shouldn’t I sneak into the palace and kill her? 

 

6 June 1630

I’ve been practicing my shooting with a target I carved in a tree near the garden. My aim isn’t the best after years of living off the garden and whatever gets caught in my traps, but I’m practicing. I’ll get better, and then she’ll know what she did. 

 

10 June 1630

My aim is improving. I’ve been eating a little more because I’m actually doing things, and I feel like the anger has gone cold and icy. It doesn’t make me want to scream anymore. Now I want to see Candas die. It’s not fair, what she did. 

I think I might go for Orvill and Grantt after her. Grantt’s always frightened me and Orvill isn’t exactly my best friend these days. They played their part; I don’t see why they should be allowed forgiveness. 

 

12 June 1630

Today is our anniversary. It’s been eighteen years since the first time we kissed, fourteen since we were married. 

I miss him so much. 

 

15 June 1630

My hands shake when I hold my bow these days, and I don’t know why. Maybe I’m having second thoughts? 

I don’t know how I’ll get to her. I can get in the palace, but I don’t know how I can get close enough to be sure I’ll hit her. I don’t want her to suffer as much as my love did, but I want her to die. 

I want to shoot her right in the heart. After all, she’s heartless. 

 

18 June 1630

Today would’ve been Simonn’s thirty-fifth birthday. I wonder if he knows that, wherever he is now. I wonder how old he is there. I wonder if he’s happy. I wonder if he’s warm and safe, reading Principia on the couch in the living room while sipping tea with a little sugar from his favorite mug. I wonder if he’s making jokes about the proportionality of force to mass to my love, telling him how the force of our rebellion was proportional to how many people we had. I wonder if he knows what’s happened to me. 

I wonder what he thinks of what I’m about to do. 

 

20 June 1630

I’ve lost a lot of weight and I don’t like how I look in the mirror anymore. I took down the mirror in our old room because I can’t stand to see myself anymore. I’m so thin I can count my ribs. It’s not good for me, but I’m never hungry anymore. Anyways, no one sees me anymore. I’m not sure I’ve spoken to another person in years. I don’t go into town for anything, not even church (except Christmas and Easter, but even then wearing a cloak with the hood pulled low over my face). 

I wonder if my love would still tell me I’m lovely this way. 

Somehow I doubt it. 

 

23 June 1630

My aim’s been getting much better, but I still don’t know if I’m precise enough to kill her with one shot. As soon as she dies I’m sure I will too, so I have one shot to kill her. 

This is a handy way to keep my promise to my love. I won’t die by my own hand, but I will end my miserable life and get to see them in the next one. Maybe my baby Luke will be there, too, and I can be the mother to him I want to be. 

I’m not sure I ever wanted children the way I ought to, but I love Luke with all my heart. It’s been almost twelve years. 

 

26 June 1630

I got into the palace today and started examining the way the guards do what they do, to see how best to sneak around them. It’s not difficult to sneak in through the servant’s quarters, because no one looks twice at the servants, but they mostly know each other so I still have to be careful. 

Although none of them knew Simonn. You’d expect they’d remember him if only for his…lack of eyes. I don’t know what she could have possibly wanted with him, anyways. Unless she knew about his dreams. 

I hope she didn’t know about his dreams. They terrify him, and I’m afraid of what she might do to try to induce them. Maybe it’s for the better that he’s dead. She can’t hurt him anymore wherever he is now. 

 

30 June 1630

I had a terrible nightmare last night of the dungeons. I have nightmares when I’m awake sometimes these days, with those awful moments of total panic. The one last night was…well, I don’t remember what happened, but it was so horrible I woke up screaming and sobbing and I reached for my love and he wasn’t there and that just made it all worse, because it wasn’t just a dream. 

I used to have nightmares that they’d abandon me. Now they’re gone and even though they didn’t abandon me, they’re never going to come back. I can’t gain comfort from their presence, because they’re not present. 

They’re gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone looking for an extra stab in the heart, Sigmun means "victorious protector". 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	70. Guilty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna has a very sudden change of heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very strong warnings for suicidality in this chapter, and it's somewhat graphic. I am very serious about this. I also want to warn for death, murder/attempted murder, depression, PTSD, grief and guilt, and injury.

2 July 1630

I tried to get in today again but I didn’t get as far as I would’ve liked. It’s hard to move quickly and quietly while keeping the bow and arrow hidden. After all, the bow is half as tall as I am. I have to hide the bow under my skirts and the arrow down the back of my shirt, but it’s hard to move that way. 

 

5 July 1630

I practice shooting every day and I’m still not eating enough. I don’t know why I’m still not hungry hardly ever, but I’m not. I should eat more. 

 

7 July 1630

I got further into the palace today but no closer to Candas. I don’t know where her quarters or her throne room is. I can hardly remember where the ballroom is, and I was there once. 

I need to find her. I’ve been looking everywhere. I guess I just need to look harder. I need a better disguise. 

 

10 July 1630

I got further in today wearing a nice dress I wore to some of the festivals when we were traveling. I suppose I look like a lady-in-waiting, but heaven only knows what people think of a sickly pale woman moving on her own through the palace, walking oddly because of the bow hidden under my skirts. 

I still haven’t found her. I have to find her. 

 

14 July 1630

Today would’ve been my love’s thirty-fifth birthday. It used to never rain on his birthday but now it always does. I hope it’s sunny for him in heaven. I hope he’s comfortable and safe with Simonn and Dolora and Luke. I hope he’s happy with our baby, because he wanted to be a father more than I wanted to be a mother. I remember when my love was teaching our baby to walk and the joy in his voice when Luke took his first steps. 

I miss him. I hope he’s happy wherever he is now. 

 

17 July 1630

I tried to get further into the palace today, and I did alright. But I still couldn’t find Candas. I just don’t know where she could be hiding. She’s the queen of the entire country--how could she possibly hide? Anyways, she thinks she can do anything. She’s not afraid of anything. Why can’t I find her? 

 

21 July 1630

I caught a glimpse of her today, but she was surrounded by servants and I couldn’t aim well. She didn’t see me, and neither did any of her servants, but just that glimpse made me furious with her all over again. She killed everyone I love. She killed my family. 

I’m going to kill her. 

 

24 July 1630

I’m considered writing Patrick to ask for help, but I don’t think he’d help me. He might even turn me over to Candas--or worse, Grantt. Candas may be about as evil as a person can be, but I’m afraid of how Grantt might hurt me. I want to die, but I’m not so sure I want it to hurt. 

 

28 July 1630

Into the palace again today, and closer to Candas, but she varies her routines. Does she even sleep in the same room every night? How can I possibly find her? 

 

30 July 1630

It’s so hot these days, and part of me would love to jump in the river and cool off, but our river has dried up to a shallow creek and I can’t go swimming anymore. I’m not sure I want to. It’s something I did with those I love, and I don’t have those I love anymore. 

 

2 August 1630

It’s too hot. The herbs are growing up fine, but I’m not hungry enough to eat. Everything tastes like cotton anyways. 

 

4 August 1630

I saw her today, as she was going to her bedroom. Maybe next time I’ll try to get in and shoot her in her sleep. She won’t have to suffer, then. But then, maybe she should be awake when she dies. She should know why I’m killing her. She deserves that much, at least. 

 

7 August 1630

Another failed expedition. I sometimes see servants wandering in groups, and I know which ones are hers, but they rarely if ever lead me to her quarters. Maybe her throne room is a better bet. 

 

11 August 1630

I tried the throne room today, but it was empty. It usually is, apparently. I put on an accent and asked a servant, and apparently it’d be better to try the dining hall. If I can find that. 

 

14 August 1630

I made it to the dining hall today, but not during a meal, so it was empty again. It’s so hard getting into the palace and past the guards that sometimes I sleep for hours and hours when I get home. 

I should eat more. I don’t want to know how many ribs I have, and I really don’t want to remember every rib that broke when I was in the dungeons. I can feel the bumps where they healed. 

I practice shooting on my off days. It’s hard without my pinkie fingers, but I can still shoot straight as ever. 

 

16 August 1630

I wish I had more motivation than this…this vengeance I need. I wish I could still go looking for my family. I wish I was still fighting the government that kills us. I wish I was still twenty years old and my love and I were just married, just getting ready to have our first child. 

I wish anyone was still alive. 

 

19 August 1630

I made it into the palace again today, to the dining hall. But it was too crowded and chaotic and I couldn’t get a clear shot, and I will not kill anyone but her. No one else should die for her crimes. That much I believe. 

 

22 August 1630

I’m thirty-five today. I hope I’m never thirty-six. 

I made it to the dining hall and I was about to shoot her--I had a clear shot--and I just remembered how I felt when I was staring down a bow and arrow and how my love loved everyone and how he told me before he died that he forgave her and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I went home and went to bed and cried for a while, and then I got up to write this, and I’m going to be dead before I’m thirty-six. 

I will be. 

 

26 August 1630

I swore to my love I wouldn’t do this. He had me promise him with one of his last breaths that I wouldn’t. 

But I can’t honor his wishes anymore. He’s been dead more than seven years. He couldn’t have known it would be like this. He couldn’t have known I would feel this way, so alone and tired. I don’t think he’d have survived so long, alone with those voices in his head. He must understand. 

 

29 August 1630

I’m too afraid to draw any of my own blood. It would hurt too much. 

 

3 September 1630

I can’t do this. What would my family say if I see them again when I pass? They’d never forgive me. I can’t. 

 

5 September 1630

I don’t have enough rope to tie a noose or anywhere sturdy to hang it from. I’m afraid that would hurt too much, too, because I know most people’s necks don’t snap and I don’t want to die that way. 

 

8 September 1630

I suppose I have a goal to work towards. I wish I could just shoot myself with an arrow but I can’t. It doesn’t work that way, unfortunately, and I can’t just stab myself with an arrow. It would hurt so very badly. 

 

12 September 1630

If my love were here, what would he say? Well, if my love were here, I wouldn’t feel this way. I’d have someone to talk to. I’d have my dearest love with me and it would be okay, we’d help each other through it. 

He’d tell me not to. 

But he’s not here. 

 

15 September 1630

I wonder if I could just…stop eating. I don’t eat much anyways. 

 

19 September 1630

I tried to not eat at all but it hurt so badly I couldn’t take it and today I went to the village--which I haven’t done in months--and bought a loaf of bread and ate it all at once. I can’t starve to death. It just hurts too much. 

 

23 September 1630

I shouldn’t. Besides my love, Dolora and Simonn would tell me not to. They would want me to keep living. 

But then, they’d want me to keep living so I could keep fighting, and I can’t do that anymore. 

 

26 September 1630

I could throw myself off the old bridge. The river is mostly dried up so when I hit the ground below it might just kill me. I just don’t know if it’s tall enough. 

 

27 September 1630

It’s not tall enough, but I think I sprained my ankle. 

 

30 September 1630

I haven’t been able to walk much, but I think I’m healing. I suppose that’s better. I didn’t know my body was still capable of healing. I thought I’d given up enough that it would, too. I suppose not. 

 

1 October 1630

I wonder if I could buy a gun. I’m not sure how to use one, but I won’t need the money anymore and no one else would have it after I’m gone. No one will find my body. 

 

4 October 1630

I tried to buy a gun but no one would let a woman near a gun. I don’t know how to use one anyways, so I suppose that was a dead end. 

That might be funny if I had any sense of humor left. 

 

8 October 1630

I shouldn’t have gone looking for the gun. It’s terrible of me to look for a way to end my life. I shouldn’t. 

I can’t stop. 

 

11 October 1630

Maybe I could burn to death. I know how to start a fire. I could die the way my love did. It would be very symbolic, I suppose. It would be exactly what Candas planned for me, and I’m not sure I care. 

 

13 October 1630

It would hurt so terribly. I burnt my hand today stoking the fire and it hurt. If I were to burn to death, it would hurt so very much, and I’m afraid of it hurting. I wish I knew a way to die without it hurting. 

 

16 October 1630

Since he died by burning, he would never wish that for me. He would never imagine that for me. He’d want me to keep living. Dolora would give me tea and tell me I deserved a good life. Simonn would just hug me and tell me he never wanted me to hurt. He used to rock side to side when he hugged me for a long time, and I could never explain why it made me feel so safe when he did that. 

 

19 October 1630

I’m reconsidering jumping. Perhaps the roof of my home would be tall enough, and the dirt wouldn’t crumble when I hit it. Maybe that’s for the better. 

 

21 October 1630

It didn’t work. I think I sprained my ankle again. I had to drag myself into the house and it hurt so, so badly. I don’t want it to keep hurting. I just want it to be over. I want it to stop hurting. It’s been hurting for seven and a half years. Can’t I be allowed some rest? 

I probably don’t deserve it. I probably deserve everything I’ve been through. 

 

25 October 1630

There was a storm last night and I climbed a tree, hoping lightning would strike. It didn’t, and there won’t be so many lightning storms in the winter. But maybe when it snows I can freeze myself. 

 

29 October 1630

It’s getting colder and colder, or so I suppose, but I can hardly feel it. 

 

31 October 1630

Today is All Souls’. I wish I could go into town and dance with my friends and family and just be comfortable and happy. Maybe I’d cuddle my baby and show him the festival, tell him how much I loved him--how much his family loved him. 

But there’s no one. Half the village wouldn’t recognize me, because they’re too young or I’m too different, and the other half hate me, because I married a bastard and then went to church or because I fought the government and lost. 

I lost. I failed. 

I’m a failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These chapters are kind of hard to write, hence the very short entires. I'm going to try to get through them relatively quickly because of how much time I spend in Dianna's head, so expect weekly updates for a bit.


	71. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna's feelings continue to cause problems for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for intense suicidal ideation and attempted suicide, depression and PTSD, loneliness, and religion.

1 November 1630

All Saints’ today. I didn’t go into the village, but I made myself a nice stew and imagined my favorite dance song, remember the times my love and I danced around the town square with everyone else while Mr. Jacobson played his fiddle. 

I wonder who plays the fiddle now. Mr. Jacobson must be very old. Maybe Mrs. Tophman plays, or even Neolla. I know Neolla was learning when we were younger, but she was learning with Mr. Jacobson’s fiddle and I don’t know where she’d get one of her own. 

It would be nice to play the fiddle. 

 

6 November 1630

I go out without a cloak these days to go hunting and while it’s miserable, it doesn’t seem to be having the noticeable effect on my health I was hoping for. I’m not dying yet, much as I’d like to be. How hard can it be to die? I thought bodies were fragile, to be protected. Dolora always had little things to do to make sure your body didn’t collapse before you were quite done with it. How hard can it be to make mine give up when I don’t want it to work at all anymore? 

 

11 November 1623

I could try poison. 

 

14 November 1630

I tried to take some aloe yesterday but it obviously didn’t kill me. It hurt much more than I thought it would, and I was sick all over the floor in the kitchen, and I only just managed to get out of bed for how much it hurt. It hurt so badly. My skin itches, too. 

I tried. 

 

19 November 1630

Everything hurts these days. My head just hurts all the time. It’s like a pounding, like I can hear my heartbeat every moment I’m awake. And I’ve been having these awful nightmares, like I always have, but every night and instead of waking up screaming I wake up paralyzed, unable to move. I feel someone sitting on my chest, or sneaking around my room, but once I’m fully awake I see there’s no one and nothing. 

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. 

 

25 November 1630

I shouldn’t do it. I should try to pull myself out of this awful mess of feelings. I should write about how I feel and handle all the awful things I feel and get better. 

I’m going to try. I’m actually going to try this time. I swore to my love I wouldn’t do it. I won’t. I’m going to be better. I’m going to be okay. 

 

29 November 1630

I went into the village today. I had my hood pulled over my face so no one could recognize me and bought a few things to eat. I ate better for dinner tonight than I have in years. I wasn’t really hungry, but I made myself eat. 

I don’t feel better yet. 

Maybe it’ll take a while. 

 

1 December 1630

Today is the first Sunday of Advent, hope. I don’t know if I believe much in God or religion or whoever created the world, but I want to. I’ve tried praying lately. Sometimes I feel calmer and better afterwards, but sometimes I feel worse because I’m terrified no one is listening. 

But I’ve been drinking my tea more regularly, and I think it might be helping. My St. John’s wort tea doesn’t taste delicious (hardly tolerable), but it helped with the melancholy before and I’m sure it can again. 

I hope so. 

 

5 December 1630

I slept better last night than I have in a while. 

I feel okay. Completely numb inside, but also not as awful as usual. I wish I knew what’s wrong with me. I wish I wasn’t completely numb all the time. I wish I didn’t hurt so much. 

 

8 December 1630

I woke up today and got out of bed and made bread. I kneaded and let it rise an extra time like Dolora taught me and ate half the loaf for lunch. 

If I feel this good tomorrow, I’ll have to go into town and ask the new mason to do my family’s gravestones. 

 

11 December 1630

I suppose I overestimated the level of energy it should take to get out of bed and bake bread considering I’ve been doing both most of my life. I think I also underestimated how much energy it takes me to go to the village and talk to someone about my family’s deaths. I tried yesterday but I only got halfway there before I was so exhausted I just turned around and went home. 

I don’t know why I’m so tired. 

 

14 December 1630

I need to decide what to write on their headstones. I want to pick verses for them, but I don’t know what they would’ve wanted. I suppose I should get my Bible out again, after all these years. I may pray sometimes, but I haven’t read the Bible in years. 

 

15 December 1623  
Sigmun Vantas, 14 July 1595-16 April 1623  
Beloved husband, father, son, and friend  
“For God sent not his Son into the world to condemn the world; but that the world through him might be saved.” --John 3:17 

Dolora Maryam, 21 September 1580-2 May 1630  
Much loved mother and dear friend  
“Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”--Matthew 11:28

Simonn Peter Captor, 18 June 1595-15 May 1630  
Dearly loved father, son, brother, husband, and friend  
“But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you.”--Luke 6:27

 

18 December 1630

After three more days of gathering my strength, I made it into town today and asked the mason to make the gravestones. It cost a good portion of our savings, but I don’t use money for anything these days, really. The stonemason from my childhood passed about four years ago, and this fellow had never met my family, so he didn’t ask questions about the graves. I told him I would be back in a month and then I’d take them home. He seemed confused, but didn’t ask. 

I buried my love in the clearing with the forget-me-nots, and I’ll put Dolora and Simonn’s gravestones there, too. They should be together, with Luke, too. 

I won’t be buried there. I’m not sure I’ll be buried at all. 

 

22 December 1630

Christmas is coming up. I suppose I’ll go into town like I do, to go to church of course, but I don’t think I’ll stay for the festival. Someone might recognize me and they might try to fight me or they might hurt me and I’m scared. I’m not sure I could bear to talk to anyone I knew from my old life. 

 

25 December 1630

I went to church today but came home and just ate dinner on my own. I hate eating at my table because there’s three empty chairs where my family used to sit, and I can’t bring myself to sit anywhere besides where I’ve always sat. 

The whole house is too empty. Dolora’s house was always big and fancy compared to everyone else’s, but at least people lived there when I was a child. It felt lived-in. 

I’d be happy in the moldiest, leakiest hut in the village if my family was with me right now. 

 

28 December 1630

New Year’s is in a few days. I don’t know if I should resolve something. It took all my energy to have my family’s headstones made. I’m not sure I can resolve to do much of anything. I might need more energy to resolve something than to do it. 

 

31 December 1630

I’ll think one good thing a day. That’s my resolution. 

 

1 January 1631

Today I thought about how nice the snow looks when it’s first fallen. It looks like newness. It looks lovely. 

I suppose I feel a little better. I’ve been drinking my tea every day like I used to and sometimes I don’t feel completely numb, but the emotions I do feel are mostly sadness. I’m not sure I’ve smiled in…years, at least. I haven’t laughed in at least that long. There’s nothing to laugh about. 

 

4 January 1630

It’s hard to remember to think something good every day. Sometimes I try something about my family, but when I think about them I starting crying again. Mostly I have to pick something about a book or the garden or the forest, because anything else hurts. Sometimes the garden hurts because it was Dolora’s garden, and the forest hurts because I played there as a child with my best friends, and so many books hurt because they’re tied to happier memories. 

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. 

 

8 January 1631

I went to their clearing today. There was snow everywhere, but I could find their gravestones this time so I climbed a couple branches up a tree and sat there for a while, talking to them sometimes but mostly just sitting in the quiet while the snow fell. 

I feel like they’re still with me when I do this. I know it’s mad, but it makes me feel better. 

 

11 January 1631

It snowed again today, and it was beautiful. When it snows at night I like to light a candle and watch out the window as the snow tumbles down from the sky. 

 

14 January 1631

I used to pretend snowflakes were made by angels in heaven as gifts for people on Earth, when I was a child. I think I remember being that whimsical and imaginative, but I haven’t been like that in a while. 

I want to have an imagination like that again. I want to be that creative again. 

 

18 January 1631

I thought today about how I like the color of my eyes. It was hard to think about for more than a few minutes, but I managed. 

I just want my family back. My love, he’d tell me he thought I was brilliant and wonderful and beautiful, and it didn’t feel so hard to like myself. 

 

23 January 1631

I’m glad no one else will ever read this, because I need to write about this. I don’t…I haven’t felt that wanting I used to feel before, when I was a young adult and first growing into my adult body. There was a time when every night I wanted him, a time before we were married when kissing him drove me mad. But these days…nothing. I haven’t felt that wanting in years. 

I don’t know what’s wrong with me. 

 

27 January 1631

Today I thought about how much I like one of my old romance novels, one in German. I thought about how I like the main woman character--she has a whole life of her own outside her love interest. 

 

31 January 1631

I went into the village today and bought a new book. I haven’t done that in years. 

 

2 February 1631

I tried praying today and I felt a little better for it. I’m not sure why. Sometimes after I pray I feel worse, or just the same, but today I felt better. 

Maybe I’m losing my mind. 

 

5 February 1630

The snow is melting a little, and it makes the river look a little less dried up, and the creek flowed just a little. The creek’s been completely dry since 1626. But the snowmelt today made it look like it’s flowing. 

I miss that. 

 

9 February 1630

It was freezing today. I don’t do much these days besides hunt when I need to, cook, and various other chores. Sometimes I knit, and I’ve been thinking of leaving hats and socks and things around town for people who are cold and can’t make their own. It’s some way to help when I can’t do anything else. 

 

14 February 1630

I slept for most of today but when I woke up I felt a little better. Sometimes I smile, these days, when I read a book I like. 

I think I’ll be alright. 

 

17 February 1630

I couldn’t eat today. I wasn’t hungry. I felt nauseous all day. I thought I was better but I suppose not. Maybe I’m just destined to feel awful. Maybe I deserve this. 

 

21 February 1630

I think maybe I should…I swore my love I wouldn’t, and I told myself I would stop and feel better and do better, but I…I’m not sure. Maybe I should. Maybe this is what I deserve. 

 

23 February 1630

Maybe when the snowmelt finishes flooding the river I can jump into it. Last time I fell in the river and almost drowned I just remember shapes and colors. If I wasn’t fighting it, it might not’ve hurt so much. 

 

27 February 1630

More snowmelt in the river today, but I don’t know if it’ll flood enough to kill me without me trying. I don’t have the energy to try; I just want to be gone. I want to be in the next life with everyone I hold dear. I want to not be here. 

I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be who I am, in the body I am in. I want to be gone. 

I want to be gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent a frankly absurd amount of time picking out the verses for the headstones, except Sigmun's, because I generally consider John 3:17 the most underrated Bible verse. 
> 
> I'm gonna do another update next Friday before switching back to a biweekly schedule.


	72. The End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna makes a very important choice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for suicidal ideation, attempted suicide, depression and PTSD, nightmares, and quite the cliffhanger.

1 March 1631

I go back and forth: should I or shouldn’t I? I want to, but I swore I wouldn’t. 

 

5 March 1631

I tried to jump off the bridge again today and I don’t know why because last time it didn’t work but this time I wanted it to, I wanted it to so badly. I just twisted my ankle again and it hurts but I made it back fine so I suppose I can’t be too hurt. 

Why can’t I just die? 

 

8 March 1631

I was thinking of using poison, but I would want to be sure that it would work. I don’t want to feel so sick as I did last time. That was awful. 

 

10 March 1631

I have days sometimes when I don’t want to die but I want more than anything else to be gone. I don’t want to…to do it, sometimes, but I want so badly to not be here. 

I can’t explain it. It’s just so terrible. 

 

13 March 1631

I want to give all my things to people who will need them, but I’m not sure anyone would take things from me. And I’m not sure I trust the church to give what I have to those in need.

My home is on the outskirts of town. Maybe I can leave it as a place for people who need somewhere to stay. It can be a place for some girl like me who has to leave her home. A safe place for her to grow up. 

 

17 March 1631

I don’t know where I should go to die. Part of me wants to die in that clearing where my family is memorialized because they’ll be around me when I die, and part of me just wants to be in my home. 

I suppose it’ll become clearer to me when I have whatever it is in my hands. 

 

20 March 1631

Sometimes I don’t have relentless nightmares. Once in a while (like last night) I have beautiful dreams about the lives I loved--when we were young and in love and not even married yet, when my little Luke was alive, when we were fighting across the country for what matters. When my family was alive. When things were alright. 

I’ll never have that back. There is not next phase of my life. This is it. 

 

24 March 1631

Maybe this is why I couldn’t have children. It’s because of what I’m about to do, early punishment for a crime only God could’ve known I’d commit. I’m not always sure I believe in God, and heaven knows I don’t believe divine right of kings for a second, but sometimes I know someone must be watching because of things like this. 

I keep praying for forgiveness, but nothing seems to come of it. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe I’m unforgivable. 

 

28 March 1631

I had the most terrible nightmare last night. I don’t know why I wake up these days paralyzed. I almost preferred screaming, because then I knew my body knew how to be afraid. I’m not sure it does these days. 

 

31 March 1631

I’ll need to go into the village if I’m committed to this course of action. I have nothing in my home that will work, unless I drink myself to death with the ancient wine Dolora used to have for holidays. No one in my family ever drank much, but they’d have some. And Dolora used it when people were in a lot of pain and she had to stitch them up. 

Anyways, I could drink. I haven’t ever, but maybe now’s the time. 

 

3 April 1631

I was so drunk I could hardly move but I didn’t die. I just threw up and hurt all over and woke up with a terrible headache and a dry mouth. 

I felt awful. 

Next time I feel that awful I hope at last I die for the effort. 

 

5 April 1631

I went through an old book today, one of Dolora’s, and I found all the poisons. One of the worst ones seems to be mistletoe. I’ll buy some of that in the market, from the apothecary in town. He’s not nearly as good as Dolora was, but he has what I need. I’ll buy some and then come home and die. 

I’ll go the clearing. No one will have to find my body that way. 

 

8 April 1631

I need the energy to go into town if I want to die. What a hell of a paradox. 

 

11 April 1631

I’ll go in a few days. I’ve been trying to eat more so I have the energy to go into town--to do anything, really, besides lie in bed and sometimes read something. 

I need to do something. 

 

15 April 1631

I’ll do it tomorrow. It’s the day my family died, so why shouldn’t it be the day I die? Maybe if I do this they’ll be there waiting for me. Maybe, in some divine, miraculous twist, I’ll end up in heaven with them. Maybe I’ll see my baby and my love and my real mother and my best friend once more. 

Or maybe not. 

Either way, at least I’ll know. 

 

16 April 1631

I must be out of my mind. 

 

17 April 1631

I have to take care of her. She has no one else. 

 

18 April 1631

What have I done?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I will not be able to update for a couple weeks, because of a convention and finals, but if anyone will be at ACen next weekend it'd be great to see you there! Enjoy the cliffhanger :)


	73. Meulin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna makes some very impulsive choices with very exciting consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm warning for mentions of child abuse in the rest of this work. Nothing on-screen, just mentions. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me, as always! It'll be biweekly updates for a little as I do finals, but over the summer I might be able to do every week.

19 April 1631

I don’t know what I’ve done, but I need to write it down. 

I was going home with my mistletoe berries, completely prepared to end it, when I heard a scream from Sheppard’s Alley. It was pouring rain and everything was mud, but I saw a girl curled up on the ground, trembling and crying. She was so tiny, and so thin, and I’ve seen orphans before but I could tell she was sick and I…I’m not sure. I just wanted to help her. 

So I picked her up off the ground and carried her home. She had her arms around my neck and she was clinging to me, and I could feel how bony she was. She was shaking terribly and freezing cold. It’s been a cold April. I think she has a fever. I’ve been treating her for the past three days, and she’s been delusional from fever. She won’t, or maybe can’t, talk to me. She just talks to someone I can’t see, maybe a sister or a friend. 

When I got her home, she was almost frozen solid. I heated up enough water to fill the washtub and warmed her up slowly, and once I’d washed all the mud off I was finally able to find her clothes under all that mud. Once I got those off I could see and treat all her wounds. There were so many cuts and bruises…but I bandaged her up and she seems to healing slowly, if steadily. After I got her clean and warmed up, I found an old nightdress of mine and put that on her. It was too big, but I don’t have any children’s clothes because my baby boy never lived to be that old. I laid her on the couch and piled on all the blankets I could find, and I made her some tea with healing herbs Dolora uses. I also fed her some thin broth so she could get her strength up. Simonn was always skinny as a beanpole, but she’s skinnier than that. It’s worrying. 

I wonder if she can write. Her clothes were embroidered all over with fancy threads I’ve hardly ever seen in the market, and only for quite a lot. She must be rich, somehow. Maybe she can write her name, so I can call her by it. I don’t know what happened to her, but she has clearly been through entirely too much for a young girl. I think she must be nine or ten, a little younger than Damara. 

I’ll get her some paper and pen tomorrow. 

 

20 April 1631

When I put the paper and pen on the table in front of her, I could tell she knew how to write, so I asked, “Can you write your name, little one?” 

She nodded, coughed, and then wrote “Meulin”. 

I took a moment to examine the name and work out how it ought to be said before I said, “Meulin?” 

She nodded and pointed at me. 

“What’s my name? Well, little one…you can call me whatever you like, but my name is Dianna.” I didn’t want to give her my last name in case she’d heard of me. “How old are you?” 

She wrote “11” on the paper and I nodded. “Alright. Can you tell me where you’re from? Who your family is?” 

She frowned and wrote “Leijon” on the paper. My heart skipped a beat and I couldn’t think what to say for a few moments. 

“Meulin, little one, why did you run away?” Is she my niece? Did my sister have daughters? 

“Hungry,” she wrote. 

“How could you be hungry?” I asked. “There’s no food shortage for the nobles.” 

“Mother won’t let me,” she wrote, and her penmanship was getting shakier with each word. 

“Oh, little one,” I said. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry now?”

She nodded, so I heated up some broth for her. “Here, have this. I don’t want to overtax your system while you’re healing. 

She put the broth aside and wrote down, “Books”.

“Do you want to read? I have a lot of books…” I stood up, but then I realized she hadn’t answered. 

She wrote, “Happy.” 

I nodded and picked a book I thought she’d like, one Dolora let us read when we were first learning how to read novels. She read it slowly, but she made a sound a few times that sounded like it should be a laugh, so I think that’s good. 

I hope that’s good. 

 

22 April 1631

She talked today. Her voice was rough and hoarse, but she answered me when I asked her if she was hungry. 

“Yes.”

“I’ll get you some soup and bread,” I said. I’d actually been cooking so I could feed her (and myself as a side effect), so I had some bread I made myself and a soup Dolora used to make. Her old recipe book is still in the cabinet with her medicine books. 

She ate everything ravenously, as much I tried to persuade her to slow down lest she make herself sick. I’m worried about her. I don’t think she’s too thin to live, but I also don’t think it can be as easy as giving her food. What if it kills her? I’ve seen children Dolora couldn’t save from starvation. Is she too close? If she is, what can I possibly do? 

 

24 April 1631

She’s definitely recovering her voice. Today I sat down with her and asked her about her family. 

“I have a sister,” she said. “She’s seven. Her name’s Nepeta.”

“And your parents?” I asked, and I tried very hard to be gentle. 

She frowned. “I don’t think…I don’t think my mama and papa like me very much.” 

“I’m sorry, little one,” I said. 

“They never want to talk to me,” she said. “And they don’t like hugs. But not like Nepeta.” 

“Not like Nepeta?”

“Nepeta doesn’t like it when people touch her. So I don’t. But Mama and Papa just don’t hug me ever, even when I ask.” 

I remembered something Dolora once told me about how little children need to be held when they’re growing up, and I saw how small she was, and it worried me. Did anyone ever love her? Children need to be loved--how could she get by without it? 

“Are you gonna bring me back?” she asked, nervous. 

It was impulsive and insane, but I said, “Of course not, little one. You can stay with me as long as you need.” 

“But…when I’m better…” 

“You can stay as long as you like,” I said. 

“Then are you gonna be my mother?” 

“If you like,” I said, once again proving myself impulsive and insane. I’m too old and too broken to be any sort of mother, especially to a little girl who’s never been loved before. I don’t know why I said it, except that I know I could never make her go back. I could never do that to a child. 

 

25 April 1631

Now that she’s mostly gotten her voice back, she’s quite talkative. She wants to talk to me about everything--anything from characters in her children’s book to the worst feelings she’s ever felt. It’s nice to listen to someone again. It’s nice to have another voice in the house, even one that sounds too much like my own (we must be related, she has to be my niece--she looks so much like me it scares me). 

She talks a lot about her sister. Everything she says makes me worried, because everything she says reminds me of what Dolora told me about “changeling” children. Dolora was fairly certain that it wasn’t fairies or demons, just something different in the person’s mind. I can’t imagine what life would be like for that little girl in that family. 

I’m worried. 

 

27 April 1631

I only realized today that while all I’m feeling is worried, I am feeling something, which is…odd. It feels odd. 

But I want to feel. I can’t die, not anymore. She doesn’t have anyone else. I have to take care of her. I wake up every morning wanting to be gone, but I can’t leave her alone. She would die. I can’t abandon her. 

If I’m to raise her, or at least take care of her, I have to feel things. She needs to be loved if she’s to grow up properly. She needs someone to love her or she’ll never know how to love herself. I don’t know if I can, but I have to try. I don’t think anyone else will. 

 

28 April 1631

She talks so much about her sister. She says her sister is too thin, and sick, too. I can’t help but worry about her. I don’t know if I can take care of another child, but I also don’t think I could leave another little girl to suffer. 

She asked me if she could go get her sister. 

What would’ve happened to me if Dolora hadn’t taken care of me? 

 

30 April 1631

Today I took her as close as I dared to the palace (I won’t go in because if they caught me she’d have no one) and she went in and came back with her little sister. The little one was skinny as a rail and pale as a sheet. She was frowning, of course, and she looked so tired. I wasn’t sure she’d be able to be walk home, but I also remembered Meulin said her sister doesn’t like to be touched. 

She didn’t make it home. I had to carry her part of the way. I don’t think she was happy about it, but she didn’t complain. On the other hand, she’s hardly spoken a word since I got her home. I suppose she doesn’t talk much, or at least not to me. I heard her talking to Meulin while I was making dinner, but they were in the library and I couldn’t catch anything much. At dinner, I noticed Meulin calling Nepeta “Kitty” and I’m not sure what that’s about. I never had a sister. I never had anyone like a sister. 

I tried to talk to Nepeta a little because I want to know what she needs. She’s only seven, still a child, and I know she needs someone to love her, but I don’t know how I’m to do that if she doesn’t like to be touched. Not touching her would, I suppose, be one way, but I don’t know what else. My family always hugged each other, and Meulin likes hugs, too. (And I remember she was upset her parents didn’t hug her.) 

I don’t know how to raise a child. I wish I had anyone I could ask. I loved my little Luke, but he was never even two years old. I don’t know how to properly raise a child, much less two little girls who need wildly different things from me. 

I just want to help them, and I’m not sure I can.


	74. Little Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna adjusts to her newfound motherhood as Meulin and Nepeta adjust to their newfound mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I almost missed this one! I just finished my first year of college, so things have been kind of intense. Thanks for bearing with me, as always!

2 May 1631

It’s been a few days, and the two of them have settled fairly well into my home. Meulin sleeps in Dolora’s old room and Nepeta in Simonn’s. I’ve been sewing clothes in their sizes as quickly as I can, but I’ve also been teaching them to sew, because they don’t know. I imagine someone’s always made their clothes for them. 

Nepeta’s a quick learner. She’s already made a rough shift. They’ll both need shifts, skirts, and a bodice, and probably a collar of some sort. But I can’t make a bodice. We’ll have to go into town. 

I’m going to have to go into town for a lot of things. I’m sure the two of them are used to better food, but neither say anything. Nonetheless, I need ingredients for bread--yeast, mostly--and some things for medicines--and bodices for my…well, I can’t call them my daughters, but I do take care of them. They’re…they’re important to me. They’re something to live for. They’re two little children who I need to raise. 

Maybe they could be my daughters. Just maybe.   
 

4 May 1631

Nepeta talked to me today for the first time. She hasn’t before, even though Meulin would tell me what she wanted. Today at lunch she asked me for a book to read. 

“Of course, little one. What do you want to read?”

“Don’t call me that.” 

“Alright. What should I call you?”

She frowned. “Happy books.”

“Sure, come with me. What do you want me to call you?” 

“My name.” 

“Nepeta?”

She nodded and frowned, but she didn’t seem upset. 

“You can call me whatever you like. My name’s Dianna if you like that.” I never thought I would tell a child to call me by my first name, but there I was. 

Part of me wonders if someday they’ll call me Mama. 

That’s insane.   
 

7 May 1631

They were both born in August, but on different days, and different from me. I wonder if that ought to mean something  
 

9 May 1631

Meulin has nightmares too much like my own. She’ll come to my room late at night when I’m reading or looking through old letters and photos and look up at me with those huge eyes of hers like I can solve all her problems--like I have all the answers. It’s like the way my little Luke used to look at me, and I don’t know how I can possibly handle it. I don’t have all the answers. I’m not sure I have any. 

I suppose that’s what being a parent is: having all the answers.   
 

11 May 1631

Nepeta’s been warming up to me since I met her, although she still won’t look me in the eye (although I suppose she might not like eye contact, like she doesn’t like touching or celery or rough sheets), and she told me, quietly, that I was much nicer than her old mother. 

“Old mother?”

“Yes.” 

“Why is she your old mother?” I’ve learned I need to ask her very specific questions. 

“She’s not my mother anymore,” she said. 

“She isn’t?”

“No,” she said. 

“You’re taking care of us,” Meulin said from the couch. “Our old mother isn’t our mother anymore.” 

“I--I’ve only known you girls a month,” I said. “Once you’re completely healed, you can leave if you wish.” 

“I don’t want to leave,” Meulin said. “And neither does Kitty.” 

“I don’t want to leave,” Nepeta said, with more force. “I don’t want to leave.” 

“You don’t have to,” I said. “I’ll take care of you girls as long as I need.” 

Meulin nodded and said, “I liked the stew last night. Can we have that again?”

“I don’t like celery,” Nepeta said. 

“I’ll make it without celery,” I said. 

“I like celery!” Meulin said. 

“But your sister doesn’t. So we’ll have stew without celery.” 

Meulin frowned and crossed her arms, but didn’t protest anymore. I suppose she understands about her sister. There are things I can’t do or see because they remind me too much of my family or of the prison; there are things Nepeta can’t eat or touch because it hurts. I’d have to be awfully cruel to subject her to them anyway! 

I suppose that’s a good a place as any to start when it comes to raising them--being kind to them. Children need to be loved, so I suppose that’s as good a place as any if I’m to raise them.   
 

13 May 1631

Meulin loves to work in the garden. If I tell her I’m going to water the planets or check on the chives, she always wants to come with me. Nepeta, believe it or not, has really taken to needlepoint! I gave her a project of mine that I gave up on ages ago, told her how to do it, and she sat on Dolora’s chair and just did that for hours. I have no idea how she does it. Doing needlepoint for too long just makes me fidgety. Meulin’s just a ball of energy most of the time, like me as a child, always jumping to the next thing--perhaps that’s why she likes gardening. 

I ought to take them to the creek. Not the river yet, because I’ll have to teach them to swim, but the creek. I know Meulin would love it.   
 

14 May 1631

The two of them are sewing quite nicely, although I’ve made most of their clothes because they are children and should not be responsible for such things yet.

Meulin wants to go into the village, but I’m not sure it’s safe for her. Nepeta still doesn’t talk much, but she told me she doesn’t want to leave. She told me she likes needlepoint as long as she has a thimble and that she loves Meulin and that she likes doing the same things every day because then she knows what’s going to happen so she can plan for it. 

It’s hard, sometimes, caring for both of them at once. Meulin’s bubbly and full of energy, always wanting to try something new, eat something new, go somewhere new. Nepeta’s quieter and stiller, wanting to do the same things every day. I don’t really mind either way, but trying to do both at once is difficult at best. 

Well, Meulin’s old enough to do things on her own, so I can let her play or read on her own, but I don’t want to leave either alone for too long. They’re children.   
 

16 May 1631

I had to sew a few patches today in my room, where I keep my scraps, and when I finished the girls were nowhere to be found--not in the library, or the kitchen, or their rooms, or even the garden. I was starting to panic in the garden--not a great place to have one of those breathing-fast, heart-pounding episodes--when I heard something from out front. I ran to the front and my two girls were sitting in the lawn, and Meulin was showing Natalie how to make a little crown out of daisies. Sitting there in the grass with the afternoon sun shining down on them, weaving together flowers, they looked like fairies (the good kind). 

“Hey there,” I said, sitting next to them. “What are you doing?” 

“I’m showing Nepeta how to make flower crowns,” Meulin said. 

“Look, Mama,” Nepeta said quietly, holding up a finished circle of daisies. She stood up and put it on my head with all the care in the world. 

“Thank you, Nepeta.” 

“You’re welcome,” she said, and she set about making another one for herself. 

They’re so sweet. I set the daisies to dry so I can keep them for a long time, and perhaps it’s absurd and sentimental but I think I might love them.   
 

18 May 1631

The longer I take care of them, the more I see their real personalities. Nepeta talks more, and more importantly says more about what she wants, and Meulin cares so very deeply about the people she’s close to. I imagine they developed traits in response to their parents, the way I know I did. Meulin would always be happy and cheerful so no one needed to cheer her up; Nepeta shut down so no one else could do it for her. 

I hope I can help them. I don’t want them to feel like I did for all those years.   
 

20 May 1631

Nepeta finished a needlepoint today. It’s quite lovely. And Meulin helped me weed the garden. I haven’t really maintained Dolora’s garden in a long time, so it’s nice to have her help cleaning it up and bringing it back to its former glory. 

It’s a sort of routine. I wake them up, make breakfast, Nepeta settles in to work on needlepoint and I work with Meulin in the garden, lunch, Nepeta and Meulin read together, dinner, I read with them, bedtime. (Well, I stay up much later, but that’s just me.) 

It’s alright.   
 

23 May 1631

Meulin wants to go to the village, and it makes me nervous. She almost died in the village. But she says she wants to go to the market and see it all. 

She’s only eleven. But when I was eleven I went to the market alone. 

What’s right? 

   
25 May 1631

Today I told Meulin she could go to the village, but she had to be back before the sun started to set, and if she wasn’t I’d come into the village to find her because I’d assume she was hurt. I don’t know if that was the right choice, but I don’t want to be overprotective of her. I think it’ll be good for her to have friends her own age, anyways. She’s quite the extrovert. 

She came back well before sunset, when the clock chimed four, and she immediately wanted to tell me everything. She met another girl named Latula and when I asked for a last name she told me Pyrope. Does Neolla have children? No, her children would have their father’s last name…I do remember she had a brother, though. Who knows? 

Well, she had a good time playing with the other girl, and then told me she also saw a lady named Mrs. Jacobson giving away kittens. Of course she wants one. I’ve never had a cat before, but I always thought it’d be nice. 

Meulin wants to go into town again tomorrow. I told her to find out about the cat, what to feed it and how to care for it, and if it sounded reasonable maybe we could have a kitten. 

   
28 May 1631

Well, we have a kitten now. It can hunt for itself, or I can give it some entrails from my own hunting trips. The first thing it did when Meulin brought it home was scamper off into the library, and I was worried because Nepeta was doing needlepoint and I was sewing, so there were needles lying around. But when I got there, the kitten was just playing in my button box. 

“I know what to name her, Mama!” Meulin said. They both call me Mama now. It’s disorienting. 

“What, little love?”

“Button!” 

“Button it is,” I said, picking the kitten up out of my button box. “Nepeta, do you want to pet the kitten?” 

Nepeta nodded and put down her needlepoint. She took the kitten on her lap and petted its head gently until Button was purring. 

“Good kitten,” she said, gently. 

“Do you like Button, Kitty?” Meulin asked. 

“Yes,” Nepeta said calmly, as serene as I’ve ever heard her. She’s taken a real liking to the cat. Well, so has Meulin! And Button is fine with being petted, as long as it’s on her head. 

It’s good having Button, I think. It’s good for us.   
 

30 May 1631

Button sleeps in my girls’ rooms (Meulin said Mrs. Jacobson said the cat’s a girl, so the cat’s a she for now). She’s getting the hang of bedtime, too, which I try to be good about. I don’t know if that matters, but when we were children Dolora enforced it, and she’s the best mother I’ve ever known. 

I’m always up much later than them, of course. I have trouble sleeping these days, and when I do sleep I have nightmares, and when I wake up from them I want to be gone. But I can’t…I can’t think that. I can’t help it, but if I were to die now they’d have no one, and I can’t let another child feel that way.   
 

3 June 1631

Nepeta’s needlepoint is really lovely. She did a pattern of flowers from my little book, and she gave it to Meulin. Meulin was very happy about it, and she put it on her desk--Dolora’s old desk. She’s a sweetheart. They both are! 

I let Meulin go into the village once a week these days, to spend time with her friend. I’m worried about letting her go more often, because it could be dangerous for her. Having friends is important, but I don’t want her to get hurt for it.   
 

6 June 1631

Nepeta doesn’t seem to want to go into the village. I ask her every time Meulin leaves, and she never wants to. I don’t know why. But she doesn’t like loud noises or too many things happening at once, so perhaps it’s just too stressful for her. She likes to sit at home, by the fire, and rest. Sometimes she’ll talk quietly to me, not about much, just little things about her project for the day. She doesn’t talk much, and she has a quiet voice, but she’s starting to…change, a little. As time goes by, I see more of these moments when I’ll mention something and she’ll light up, full of feeling and excitement for a little while before she collapses back in on herself. 

I think this bright, excited person is an important part of who she is. I hope I can encourage it.   
 

8 June 1631

My two girls love to play together. They like to make flower crowns and read together, and Nepeta likes to braid Meulin’s hair (never the other way around). I’m glad they’re happy. I think it’s good for them that they have each other. I think sisters ought to be close.   
 

11 June 1631

I wonder what my family would say if they were here. Sigmun would love them, I’m sure--he’d dote on two little daughters, both brilliant and wonderful. He’d adore them both. Simonn would be the kindest uncle to them anyone’s ever been, ready to teach them everything he knows. And Dolora would be such a grandmother! She’d give them cookies and play with them and love them as much as I do. 

I wish they were here. I don’t know how to raise a child. I’m so afraid of doing something wrong.   
 

13 June 1631

Button will walk with Nepeta to bed, then to Meulin’s room, and then to mine. And then she’ll wrap herself around my feet and meow until I get into my bed. These days I’ve been sleeping in all my clothes, shoes and bodice still on since I can hardly stand to look at my body these days, but…last night, I changed into my nightdress and got into bed and fell asleep.

I don’t know.   
 

16 June 1631

The garden is looking much better. Meulin helps me almost every day, weeding and watering and all that. I don’t know if it’ll ever be as good as when Dolora maintained it, but I do my best.   
 

18 June 1631

I took them to the creek today. Meulin loved it, like I knew she would, and Nepeta just sat on the edge with a book and read. 

It was nice. I mostly played in the creek with Meulin, splashing her gently. I told them I’ll teach them to swim in the river and show them how to jump in the water with the rope swing--if I can set it up again!   
 

21 June 1631

Meulin met a little boy in town today, named Mituna. Apparently his last name is Captor, his father must be one of Simonn’s brothers. Probably Robert, if Meulin’s description of the child is anything to go by. 

I forget, sometimes, that no one really leaves this town. Even now I’m back here with my children. I’m sure she’ll run into more children I might know, people I knew as a child and young adult, people who knew me before all of this. It’s…odd.  
 

23 June 1631

It just keeps getting hotter. Working in the garden is worse every day. I won’t let Meulin out with me if it gets much hotter, because I don’t want her getting heat sickness.   
 

25 June 1631

Button is a cute little kitten. I love just sitting at my desk, reading or writing, and petting her gently. She does like to sit in my lap, or anyone’s really, and she loves being petted. 

I think I rather like having a cat.   
 

27 June 1631

Nepeta finished another little needlepoint today and gave it to me. I put in on my desk, next to the book where I wrote down my love’s speeches. I want to keep all these things they give me, because they will grow up as children do and I’m afraid I’m going to miss them. I want to remember them as children when they’re grown up and I’m sixty years old and ready to die.   
 

30 June 1631

Today…I realized something. Meulin was talking about how her mother hurt her, and when she talks to me like that the words pour out like she’s afraid to stop. Nepeta doesn’t talk about it much, but Meulin does. I imagine they just communicate differently. 

Anyways, Meulin was talking about her mother and I was so furious with my blood sister for hurting this little girl and then I just…it hit me, that I was furious with her mother for doing all these things wrong and these are things my mother did that hurt me, and I…my mother was wrong. 

How has it taken me my entire life to see that my mother was wrong?


	75. Friendly Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna continues dealing with her past as she raises her two daughters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, I was going to publish this yesterday but I forgot it was Friday! Summer confuses me that way. 
> 
> On that note, I am announcing a purposeful break this time (instead of just being incredibly busy for a few weeks). I'm going out of town with my best friend, and I'm not bringing my computer, so I won't post a new chapter until August 14th. Thanks for sticking with me, as always!

2 July 1631

I feel like I’m boiling in this heat sometimes. But it does mean I’m feeling something, so that’s good, or so I suppose. 

I don’t feel much, really. Things are very…distant. Sometimes I don’t even feel like I’m in my own body--I feel very disconnected from it. I try very hard to show my girls that I love them, because they’re children and they need to be loved. But I don’t feel much myself, not even when Meulin hugs me tight and tells me she loves me. 

I take them to the creek most days. It’s cooler there, and Nepeta likes to do the same things every day. Nepeta brings a book and Meulin just splashes in the creek, having a wonderful time just playing in the water. 

I love them. I know that for sure now. 

 

4 July 1631

Button is a good kitten, but every night she meows at me until I change into my nightdress and go to bed. And my daughters wake me up every morning. Between the three of them, I’ve been sleeping like a normal person. 

I suppose that’s good. Sleeping from sundown to sunset, just waking up at midnight or so to stoke the fire and have a cup of chamomile, seems like the sort of thing someone without persistent melancholy would do. 

I’ve been drinking my tea lately. It seems to help. 

 

7 July 1631

I wish it wasn’t like this. I don’t want to wake up and spend half an hour convincing myself to get out of bed so my girls don’t worry. I don’t want to be living not on hope or love or happiness but on the knowledge that they’ll starve if I don’t feed them. I hate that I can’t just live like I ought to. I hate that the heavy numbness that consumes even my long-held grief refuses to let up enough for me to love my daughters like I should. 

I love them more than I can say, almost like how I loved Luke, but I can’t seem to feel it. If I can’t feel it, I’ll show it nonetheless, because at the very least they need to believe they are loved. 

 

9 July 1631

I hit on one of the things Nepeta loves to talk about today. She loves to talk about plants. I found her a book on botany and she absolutely loved it. I did notice that while she doesn’t like to garden, she likes to sit near the plants and examine them. Today she devoured the book I gave her and told me everything, overjoyed to have someone listen to her. I want to listen to her, and I want her to feel listened to. It’s sort of what my love did, I think. He made people feel listened to. 

Meulin’s been less of a ball of energy lately, not so much that I’m worried but enough that I think she’s getting better. She’ll come find me when she has nightmares and she’ll cry to me and I think it’s good because I think she needs to feel sad. 

I think sometimes I need to feel sad, too. If…it’s terrifying to think it, but if my mother was wrong, I need to know what is right. I need to…I need to deal with this. I need to feel, I think. 

I’d like to feel. I’d like to feel all the things I think I might have to, so I can move on with my life. 

All that time, they were right. My love, my family, they were right. 

I should’ve known. When did they ever steer me wrong? 

 

12 July 1631

My daughters helped me cook dinner tonight. Meulin chopped vegetables and Nepeta helped me with the herbs. She’s very sensitive to taste, and she likes things to be just right. Meulin’s happy with anything, and I don’t taste anything these days. 

I like making dinner with them. It seems to be a good way to be closer with them. And when I eat with them, it feels like having a family again. It’s…it’s different, being the mother rather than the daughter, but it feels nice. 

I love them. I think that’s what you need to have a family. 

 

14 July 1631

Today would be his thirty-sixth birthday. Luke would be twelve, and my love would be teaching him reading and writing and math, and I’d be coming home from work every day to see my son growing up and my love teaching him. Maybe my love or my son would be looking for a job, my love to support us and my son to find a life for himself. Sigmun and I would perhaps have more children, a daughter maybe, and we could teach her everything we’d teach Luke. 

It would be nice. 

 

17 July 1631

Meulin found the old drawings Simonn did of us, and she asked me about them. 

“Who’s this Mama?”

“Well, this is my old family. That’s me, my love--my husband, our best friend, his fiancé, and our mother. And that…that is my baby.”

“You had a baby?” 

“Yes, I did.”

“Where is she?”

“His name was Luke. He died when he was fourteen months old.” I choked on it and I didn’t want to cry in front of her but whenever I think of him the sadness just overwhelms me and I want to cry all over again. 

“Oh,” she said. “Sorry, Mama.”

“Don’t be sorry, little love. It’s not your fault.” 

“I…I just mean I’m sorry you’re sad.” 

“Thank you, little love.” 

“Um…you’re welcome, Mama.” She hugged me, and I hugged her back, and then she asked me for a story. 

“Little love, I don’t have many stories.” 

“But Mama! All the books have grownup stories. Don’t you know any stories for children?” 

“I…I suppose I do,” I said. “Alright, come on, I can tell you and your sister a story.” 

So I made up a story about a princess who learns how to use a sword from her best friend, a knight, and defeats the dragon that has been stalking her kingdom since she was a little girl. She becomes a wise and just queen, and when she dies her people are well cared for and safe. 

I’m not sure where exactly it came from, but there’s no chance I’ll get out of telling more. The looks in their eyes when I told that story told me that they will want many, many more. 

 

19 July 1631

I’ve been telling them stories about my life except different, about moments where there can be princess and knights and happily ever after. And like my love said, sometimes I’m the knight and he’s the princess, and sometimes he’s the knight and I’m the princess, and sometimes we’re both the knight, and sometimes we’re both the princess. That’s how it should be. 

I think my daughters like the stories, and I think Nepeta likes the romance. She leans forward when I mention two of my little characters getting married, or being in love. 

I’ll have to teach them things, about being married and having a woman’s body. I’m not looking forward to it. I don’t know what I’ll say or how to say it, and I certainly don’t know much about sleeping with men--I only ever slept with one. I just hope I can tell them so they don’t come running up to me terrified of their own bodies. 

I remember when that happened to Eleanor. I don’t want it to happen to them. 

 

22 July 1631

I have to do something for their birthdays. Nepeta was born on August fifth, and Meulin on August fifteenth. I want to celebrate their birthdays so they feel loved here, loved and cared for in all the ways children should. 

I could bake a cake. Last time I tried that it went poorly (I still can’t believe Dolora ate it), but I’m much older now and a better cook. I make my own bread--I’m sure I can make a cake. 

 

25 July 1631

Today Meulin asked me when my birthday was, and I told her August twenty-second. She was surprised, and then promptly declared us an August family, since we were all born that month. She told me it ought to be birthday month. I couldn’t help but laugh, because she was so happy about it, and I told her of course, we’d all celebrate our birthdays in August. 

I’m not sure what I’ll do for mine. I’m not sure I deserve a birthday. 

No, I can’t think that way anymore. Everything my mother said to me, she was wrong. She was wrong. She was wrong. She was wrong. She was wrong. 

 

27 July 1631

I don’t want to be selfish but I need to write about it here. I can’t stop feeling and thinking all these things about my mother, and I need to write it all down. 

I know she was wrong. She hurt me, and she was wrong. I spent a long time thinking I was being punished for doing something wrong but I didn’t. I was not her ideal daughter but that doesn’t mean she had the right to do what she did to me. She was angry with the world and took it out on me, and that wasn’t fair. 

And I don’t know what to think of any of that. She was wrong, but I don’t know…if I know that she was wrong, then I acknowledge that she never wanted me; she only wanted what I could be. I lived through everything believing that no matter how much she hated me, I was taken in wanted. But…she never loved me, or wanted me. She only wanted what I could be. 

No one wanted me. 

 

30 July 1631

I’ve been thinking about it more, and…I think Dolora wanted me. She said she wanted children, she wanted a daughter. My birth mother and my mother, neither of them wanted me, but Dolora…she loved me no matter who I was, and she took care of me, and she was kind to me. 

Someone wanted me, then. Someone was to me what I need to be for my daughters. 

 

3 August 1631

I suppose I know it’s selfish of me to think about this so much, but this is my journal--I can write what I please here. I won’t be selfish in my life, with my children, but I need to write about it. 

Dolora loved me, and she wanted me. My mother did neither, and she…she was wrong. She was wrong. It was wrong of her hit me and call me those names and do things she knew would hurt me. It was wrong. She was wrong. All that time I thought I was being punished, she was the one in the wrong. 

I don’t know what to do. I’ve spent my whole life seeing the world as if my mother was right and I was wrong, and now all that’s turned on its head. If that’s not how the world is, then…I suppose all those terrible things, Luke and the children I never had and losing my whole family…maybe I didn’t do anything deserve all that. Maybe it was just bad luck and bad people. Maybe I didn’t do anything. 

No, that’s absurd. Not being able to have children--that’s not just bad luck. And even if my mother was wrong, I was still a bad daughter. I deserve these bad things that have happened to me. There’s no question of that. 

Right?

 

5 August 1631

Today was Nepeta’s eighth birthday. I made us baked apples and her favorite stew (no celery, of course), and I gave her all sorts of supplies for needlepoint so she can continue to do that, since she likes it so much. Meulin took her hand gently and said happy birthday, and as I understand it that was like giving her sister the biggest hug she could, since Nepeta doesn’t like to be touched. 

Nepeta informed me that now that she’s eight she wants to go into the village with her sister sometimes. I told her she never has to, but if she likes to, she can go with Meulin as long as the two of them stay together and they’re back early. 

I worry about them. The village is normally safe during the day, especially if it’s sunny, and apparently her friends there have parents who watch them. Anyways, most of the village adults will watch out for two little girls. 

But I worry. 

 

7 August 1631

I took my daughters to the river today and showed them how to swim, just a little but enough that they could have fun. I’d like them to learn. I always loved swimming as a child and I hope they will too. 

Meulin has been having fewer nightmares, but I still wake up late (I wake up late) to her quiet tears. Every time, I hold her close and tell her that it’s going to be okay, she’s safe with me, and it’s going to be alright. I tell her she’s wonderful and brilliant and kind and beautiful and important, and that she matters. Eventually I’ll carry her back to her room and tuck her in and sit with her until she falls asleep again. She deserves it. 

Nepeta doesn’t have nightmares, or she doesn’t seem to. But she’ll make up stories and they’ll be about things like being hungry or being lonely. And I think…I think she doesn’t like herself. I want to teach them both to love themselves. I have to tell Nepeta everything I tell Meulin and vice versa--I need to tell Meulin I’m proud of her and I need to tell Nepeta she’s brilliant and important. I need them to know these things, things I didn’t know as a child (and still don’t know now, I think. I’m not exactly important). 

I have to raise them to love themselves. I can’t die. The emptiness and sadness ache deep down inside and everything I’ve ever believed is topsy-turvy and I just want to be with my family again, but I can’t die now. I need to raise them, because no one else will. 

 

10 August 1631

I just want to be with them again. I woke up this morning feeling so desperately, terribly lonely. I just want to come home from work and smell Dolora cooking dinner, see Simonn reading on the couch sipping tea, hear Sigmun mixing medicines at the table. I just want to be part of that family again. I want there to be someone to catch me when I fall, because I fall every time because I’m never good enough, and I know they were lying to me when they tell me I’m everything I need to be but it was so nice to hear. I just want that again. 

It’s never going to be that way again. I have to catch my daughters if they fall, tell them they’re everything they need to be and they are good enough. I don’t know how I can possibly do this alone. 

 

12 August 1631

Nepeta finished a lovely needlepoint today and she asked me if I’d put it up in the library. So I told her of course and put it on the wall with the other miscellaneous art we have. I want her to know I’m proud of her. She deserves that. 

Meulin’s birthday is in a few days. I’ll have to make something for her. 

 

15 August 1631

I made a strudel for Meulin, mostly because I found the old recipe in a German recipe book from when I was younger. It was quite good, actually, which is rare for me. (Well, my daughters think it’s good, but they are children.) She’s twelve, now. They’re getting older! 

My own birthday is in about a week. I’ll be thirty-six. I’m getting old myself, really. I’ll be forty before long, and Dolora was forty-three when everything ended. I wonder what I’ll do when my children grow up, when Nepeta is eighteen or twenty and is married. They won’t need me anymore, and I don’t know if I’ll have a reason to stay alive if I’m not needed. 

But then, perhaps they’ll live in this home and I’ll take care of their children, my grandchildren, until I’m sixty years old and die. 

 

17 August 1631

My mother was wrong. I remind myself of this every day because if I don’t keep thinking it to myself, I’ll forget and think again that she was right. I need to believe that she was wrong. I don’t know what I did wrong to deserve the things that happened to me, but I know it wasn’t my mother. 

I suppose if my mother was wrong, and Dolora was right, then I have to raise these children like Dolora raised me. I planned to do so already, really, but this just affirms it. I’ll never hit them. I’ll never call them those awful names. I’ll teach them how words can hurt and how to be kind, and more than that, how to believe in the kindness of others and the world. My love believed with all his heart that people were good and kind above all else, and I want them to believe that, too. 

I don’t believe the world is a cruel place. I believe there are cruel people in it, but I believe that people are mostly good and have good intentions. I want them to believe this, too, because I think the people who are cruel are the ones who believe the world is cruel, and so by being cruel they are just living in the world. And I believe with all my heart that that’s wrong. 

 

20 August 1631

The garden looks beautiful. Meulin helps me maintain it and it looks so lovely. It will never be as lovely as when Dolora kept it, but I try. Meulin will sit with me and pull weeds and thin carrots and all that. It will be a good harvest, I think. 

Oh, goodness. I haven’t fed anyone but myself in years. How can I feed them both over the winter? I’ll have to hunt. I don’t know how much, but I don’t know if I have enough energy for it. I hope I can feed the two of them and myself over the winter. I don’t know what I’ll do if I can’t. 

 

22 August 1631

My little girls remembered my birthday. Meulin gave me this handful of flowers she picked from the clearing in front of the house and she hugged me and told me happy birthday. She asked how old I was, and when I told her thirty-six, she said, “You’re so old!” 

I laughed, and said, “Little love, I’m not so old yet.” 

“Yes you are!” she said. “You’re gonna be…um…forty-four when I get married!”

“When are you getting married, then?” I asked. 

“When I’m twenty.” 

“Oh? And to whom?”

“I don’t know. He’s gonna be really handsome, though, and also smart. He’s gotta be smart like me, or I won’t marry him.” 

I almost laughed aloud. “Well, little love, I hope you love him very much.” 

“Why should I love him?”

“Well, it’s more fun that way,” I said. “I was happy when I was married to my love.” 

“Where’s your husband?” she asked. 

“He passed away, little love. A long time ago.” 

“Oh,” she said, looking down. “Sorry.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it, little love. Most of my family is dead. But I have two little daughters right now and that’s all I need.” I kissed her forehead and she smiled a little. “I just want you to be happy.” 

“How do I find someone I love?” she asked. 

“Well, a lot of the time it’ll be a friend of yours who you realize one day is beautiful and wonderful and everything you want in a man, and you’ll start seeing each other, and then after a while you’ll realize you want to be married to them. Or, that’s how it happened for everyone I know anyways.” 

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t wanna marry Mituna and he’s the only boy I know!” 

“You might want to marry a girl, little love.” 

“What?” 

“Women can love other women, and men can love other men, and there’s nothing wrong with that, little love--not even if they want to be married.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Okay.” Then, “What about you?”

“I only ever loved my love,” I said. “But women are very pretty, little love, and my mother-in-law--Dolora, my love’s mother--she loved women. A woman named Rose.”

She frowned. “I still don’t wanna marry Latula.”

“Then don’t, little love. You have a lot of time. You don’t even have to get married if you don’t want to.” 

“Oh,” she said. “Really?”

“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t plan on getting married before I met my husband.” 

She looked confused. “But…that’s what my old mother told me.”

“Sometimes adults can be wrong,” I said. “If you don’t want to get married, don’t.” 

“Well, if I do get married, he’s--or she’s--gonna be really smart,” she said. “And really nice.” 

“As long as they make you happy,” I said, and she grinned. 

“They will!” she said. “Can we go to the river?”

“Of course, little love. Go get your sister.” 

So I took them to the creek and we played until it was late. 

 

25 August 1631

Meulin met another little one in the village today, named Horuss. It seems Patrik. And Nepeta went with her today, and so met Horuss’s brother Equius. She took a liking to Equius, apparently, and said she wants to go into town with Meulin every time if she can spend time with Equius. So, against perhaps better judgement, I told her she could invite Equius back here and they could play here. If he’s her age, he’s much too young to recognize me. Nepeta seems to like him, and that’s what counts, anyways. She ought to have friends. 

Well, I suppose I’ll just get them some water and snacks if they ask. I’m sure they’ll have fun on their own, and as long as they’re happy, I won’t worry. 

Or, I will try not to, at any rate. 

 

27 August 1631

Meulin asked me if she could bring her friends to our home, too, and I told her alright. Apparently she does want to spend time in the village, but she also wants to show off the library and garden to her friends, and play in the clearings and by the creek. 

She’ll have fun. They both will. I don’t want them to rely too much on me, anyways. Having someone else to talk to will be good for them, so that when I go or when they grow up, they’ll have someone else to be there for them. 

 

30 August 1631

I took my little girls to the river again today and we all swam, and Meulin asked me for more stories, and so I told her some. She also asked some questions about my life before the two of them, and so I told her some without telling her too much. I did not tell her about March 1614 or my miscarriages or much else, really, just the happy things. Just the good times in our family. 

I’ll tell them the hard things someday, when they’re ready--when they’re old enough. But right now, they’re children, and I think ought to be treated as such.


	76. Winter Is Coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nepeta gets sick as winter approaches--with the festival both girls want to go to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! I didn't post this yesterday because I was insanely jet lagged and passed out at like ten PM, but it's here now :) Thanks for sticking with me, as always, and enjoy!

2 September 1631

I found out just today that Nepeta doesn’t know how to write. She’s only eight, but I think it’s high time she learned. Meulin does, at least a little, and so I think I ought to teach them both so they can have that in this world. 

I miss Dolora so much right now. She was the one who gave me this gift of writing and she was…she was amazing. I love her so much. I know I’m much too old to need parents, but I miss her. 

 

5 September 1631

Nepeta is having some trouble with writing, and I can tell it will be slow going. But that’s alright; everyone starts somewhere. She can remember most letters day-to-day, so that’s good. I don’t really mind; heaven knows I have time on my hands to teach her. I don’t do much these days besides hunt and tend the garden and spend time with my daughters. Usually that’s quite enough to exhaust me by the day’s end. 

I have to start harvesting the garden and hunting more soon, to prepare for winter and all. I won’t let my girls go hungry their first winter with me, now when their blood mother let them starve. I have to be better than that. I have to be there for them. 

I have to. 

 

7 September 1631

Meulin’s still having nightmares. She’s twelve and she doesn’t sleep the night half the time. Isn’t that for us old folks? But then, I’m sure I had nightmares by twelve, if not sooner. I’ve had nightmares most of my life, I think. I hope she doesn’t have them for the rest of hers. 

 

9 September 1631

Nepeta woke me up for once, and I could tell something was wrong because she was crying quietly. I was worried, so I got up to tend to whatever it was. 

It turns out she’s sick. She had a fever and a sore throat, and she was feeling achy and tired. So I mixed her up something for a fever and to help her sleep and spent most of the day tending to her, trying to make her comfortable. 

Meulin wasn’t happy, but I think she understands that right now, Nepeta needs my attention. 

 

12 September 1631

Nepeta’s not much better. I hope it’s not winter fever--I don’t think I could stand it if it was. I’ve been able to leave her for longer, because she knows how to take her medicines and Meulin does need me--at least enough to know I love her and I’m proud of her. 

I’m sure it’s just time. The fever will break soon and she’ll be back on her feet again in a couple days. 

 

14 September 1631

She had pox marks today. The second I saw them I demanded to know if Meulin had ever had pox. She said yes, smallpox and chicken pox, but Nepeta’s never had smallpox. 

I haven’t dealt with variola in a long time. I don’t know what to do. I’ll have to go back to Dolora’s books for cures. I know she had some. 

I don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t make it. 

 

16 September 1631

She was worse today. Her fever’s bad and she’s hardly talking, even to Meulin. I’m trying to keep her comfortable, and I spend every free moment scouring Dolora’s books for her smallpox recipes, but I haven’t much. Just medicines for fever, rash, or ache on their own. I give her tea to help her sleep, because sleep heals, but she’s been having nightmares, too. We’re just a nightmare family, I suppose. 

Button has been curling up with Nepeta a lot, I suppose sensing her distress. Nepeta smiles a little when that happens, so that’s good, at least. 

 

19 September 1631

She’s feeling a little better, but the pox marks are emerging, and they’re bad. Meulin swore she’d had all kinds of pox, so she’s safe, but I still don’t like her near Nepeta. I know I had smallpox--I have the scars to prove it--and I’m the one taking care of her. I know you can only get variola once. 

The pox marks itch like hell, so right now I’m mostly managing the discomfort as the fever fades (thank heaven) and the vomiting and aches go away bit by bit. I found an itch cream Dolora used to mix, and a note I wish I’d found earlier: “Variola must be treated by symptoms--see headache, fever, vomiting, itch, and general pain.” 

I just hope she’ll be okay. 

 

21 September 1631

I tell Nepeta every day that the itch will go away, but it’s so bad it makes her cry. And they’re starting to burst, which is terrible--it’s disgusting (for her and me) and I’m doing laundry almost constantly to keep her comfortable. 

She’s also developed a cough, something I don’t remember being part of this phase of smallpox. I hope it’s nothing worse. I’m already crying myself to sleep with fear. I’m so afraid she’ll die. 

 

23 September 1631

The cough is worse. She’s not getting better and I don’t know what to do. I couldn’t stand it if she died. I don’t know what I’d do. 

I’ve been mixing medicines as fast as I can find them, but I don’t know what’s wrong with her. I don’t know where Dolora’s book is for figuring out what’s wrong with people. I don’t know anything. 

Even locked up in prison, half-dead and terrified, I didn’t feel this helpless. 

 

26 September 1631

She has a fever again. I feel terrible about not spending so much time with Meulin, but I need to help Nepeta. She’s so small and weak in her sickness and she needs me. I can’t let her down. 

I need to help her. I have to. 

 

28 September 1631

Her fever’s down a little. I was so relieved I almost cried, but I didn’t, thank goodness. I don’t want them to see me cry. They’re my daughters; I have to be there for them. I have to love them and care for them, and I have to be their mother. I can’t rely on them, much as I co need them so I get out of bed most days. 

I have to be to them who Dolora was to me. They deserve that, at least. 

 

30 September 1631

I think her cough is a little better. Her chest sounded better today, less sore and congested. In her sickness she’s been clinging to me more, not physically but very much with her voice. She’ll call for me more, ask for more, want me to just be there more. I can’t blame her. She’s only eight--she needs someone to be kind to her when she’s ill. Well, all the time, really, but especially in illness. She needs to be loved. 

I can do that. I love them more easily than I breathe. 

 

2 October 1631

She was much better today. I could’ve cried from relief--again. Button is also happy, which I know because of her purr. She has a happy purr when someone pets her just right or, apparently, when a healthy Nepeta cuddles with her, 

 

4 October 1631

Things are okay. Nepeta is much better and Meulin is as relieved as I am, glad to see her sister getting better. And Button is happy, too, cuddling with Nepeta at every opportunity. What a sweet kitten! I’m glad Meulin talked me into having a cat. I love her, too. 

It’s good to have a pet, I think. It’s something else to live for. I’m not sure I really…I really feel that, so intensely, like I did not so long ago. I can’t, not now, so I have to stay alive. I have to raise these girls loved and cared for. 

I ought to make my tea. It really does help, keeping the heavy emptiness just a bit lighter and fuller. It’s good to be able to feel, I think. 

 

6 October 1631

Nepeta got up and walked a little today, without starting up another coughing fit. She’s much better, thank heaven. She’s going to be alright. 

Now that my daughters are both healthy or on the right track, I best get to preparing for winter. I’ll need to harvest and prepare the garden, preserve meat, sew them winter clothes…all that. 

I can do that. I have since I was seven. 

 

9 October 1631

Meulin wants to help me with my winter preparations. It’s sweet of her, really, and she is quite the help. Nepeta mostly prefers sorting, dried leaves from stems and such. As it’s my least favorite task, I’m all too happy to let her sit quietly for hours and sort. 

When she’s older, I’ll teach Meulin to hunt. Not now--she’s too young. When she’s thirteen or fourteen, I’ll show her the bow and arrow, and maybe when she’s sixteen, I’ll teach her to hunt for real. And Nepeta too, though not for a while yet. 

I’ll teach them everything I know. I think, once I’m gone, they’ll need it. 

 

12 October 1631

Nepeta’s okay. She’s going to be alright. The cough is fading, the pox marks are just scars, and she’s going to be fine. My daughters are going to be okay. 

I love them so dearly. I didn’t think I was capable of feeling this way, of loving someone like this again, but it looks like I’m not as far gone as I feared. 

I feel like ruins, some days. I’m the ruins of the lively, passionate woman who used to inhabit this body. She wouldn’t have to work so hard to feel this love, to show it to her children. But there is value in ruins, I imagine--something old and wise Dolora had I hope I can have for my daughters. 

I am ruins, but the ruins are still what they once were. I can’t say that the woman I was then and the one I am now are essentially not the same--just in different places. 

Isn’t that something Simonn was on about--conservation of mass? Or energy? Maybe I’m conserved energy. Everything I once was, just in a different form. 

 

14 October 1631

Meulin helped in the garden today, as usual. It’s sweet of her, it really is. And she is a big help. I’m hoping to have it all harvested and preserved soon. 

I hope I can do this. The food I have seems to be closer to the amount we had for the four of us than the little I’ve been preserving for myself, and I have been hunting lately. 

I just hope it’s enough. 

 

16 October 1631

It’s looking good for having enough food. I’ve preserved most of what I grow in the garden, and I’ve been smoking and salting some of the meat I hunt. Since I don’t eat much, it should be alright. 

I’ll starve if I have to. I’ll do anything so they can eat. I know I haven’t known them long, and they’re not my blood children, but I love them and they’re children--they deserve comfort and safety. 

 

19 October 1631

Meulin’s disappointed that it’s too cold for the creek, but I told her once it’s frozen I’ll teach them to skate. I’m not sure I have proper skates anymore (I think we sold them around when Luke was born) but we used to glide around on the surface of the river and that was terrific fun. 

I’m sure my daughters will love it. I did when I was their age, anyways. 

 

21 October 1631

I can’t show them skating until it’s properly winter, but preserving food takes most of my time these days, anyways--I think because I haven’t done it in a long time. Most winters these past years I’ve prepared a pittance of vegetables and herbs and hunted, sometimes. 

Nepeta likes sorting, and Meulin learning what I’m doing, so it’s alright. I just make sure they read and write every day. 

 

24 October 1631

Nepeta was poking at her pox scars today in that familiar way I remember doing to myself. She’s much too young for that, so I told her, gently as I could, “Nepeta, it’s alright, plenty of people have pox marks.”

“They’re different.” 

“No, they’re not. Everyone has them.” 

“They’re different,” she said again, emphasizing different in a way I didn’t understand. 

“Oh, Nepeta, I promise they’re normal.”

“No, they’re different.” 

I realized all of a sudden what she meant. “I know they make your face look different, Nepeta. But you’ll get used to it. Everyone’s face looks different as they grow up. You’ll recognize it in time.”

She frowned, still, but seemed mollified. I hope that’s enough. I hope she grows up to love her body and face, as well as her mind. Little girls deserve that much.

 

26 October 1631

It gets colder every day, and I’m somewhat astounded I can tell. I haven’t felt cold or warm in age. 

I’m so surprised I feel things these days I almost didn’t notice I also feel surprised. 

 

29 October 1631

The festival for All Souls’ is in a couple days. I don’t want to send my girls on their own, but Meulin will want to go and I’m not sure I feel safe being in the village these days. I also have no idea if Nepeta will want to go. 

Well, best to ask them, I suppose. If they don’t want to go, there’s no problem. 

 

30 October 1631

Meulin wants to go, and Nepeta does too--to spend time with Edward, she said. So I…I’m not sure. I could wear a heavy cloak, or one of those huge hats some of the older women wear. I could also tell them no, it’s not happening. But it seems wrong to force them to miss our because of my fears. 

Anyways, I’ll have to face those fears at some point. 

 

31 October 1631

It wasn’t as bad as I dreaded. I wore a long cloak with a hood and mostly kept to myself, and most people didn’t recognize me--especially not with two daughters when I only ever had a son here. I didn’t dance or eat much, but it was nice to be around people who were having fun and enjoying the festival. 

And my girls had a lot of fun. They really loved the festival, spending time with their friends and eating the food and dancing with the other children. They want to come back tomorrow for All Saints’. 

I can do it. I faced the village once; I can do it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very kind commenter asked about a sequel and at the time I didn't think I would write one, but now I am thinking of writing a pair of sequels that would focus on Meulin and Nepeta. What do you guys think? I have a few ideas I've been working with, and I'd start publishing it when I finish this work. Thanks!


	77. First Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Meulin and Nepeta's first Christmas with Dianna.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting school again soon, but I'll try to keep to every other week. I'm also taking a creative writing class, so maybe the writing will get better too (or so I hope)! Thanks as always for reading :)

1 November 1631

Everything’s dying, as it does in the winter, but it was All Saints’ day today and so the village was bright and beautiful. I haven’t been in years, but I took my daughters this year and my goodness, it was beautiful. It was snowing lightly, and the snow reflected back the hundreds of lit candles to us, and there was dancing and fiddle music and food and drink everywhere. My girls had terrific fun and although I didn’t dance or really talk to anyone, it was nice to be around people who were so happy. No one really looked at me twice, luckily. I’m wondering if I need to hide myself so much. I’m not sure anyone would recognize me. As far as anyone official is concerned, I’m dead. 

I could sell medicines again. I could be the midwife. I could save women and children who are in pain. I’m not sure I could do much, but I could try. 

 

3 November 1631

I should teach them to make medicines. My two little girls are going to live long after I’m gone, and they’ll need to support themselves, and they’ll need to make their own medicines. Dolora taught me everything she knew; I’ll teach them everything I know. 

I’m too scared of the village to go be the midwife right now. I know that’s pathetic and selfish and I could be saving lives but I can’t, not now. I can’t be a good doctor if I can hardly breathe whenever I’m in the village, and I can’t risk any harm coming to me and keeping me away from my daughters. 

And I’m petrified to see someone from my old life. I might as well admit it in my old journal. I’ve never kept any secrets from this little book, and I won’t start now. I’m too scared to go into the village. I’m so afraid of what people will say about me, and to me, and I’m afraid because I spent my whole life being judged by that village and I can’t stand it one more second. 

I’m too afraid. 

 

6 November 1631

Nepeta’s writing is coming along very well. I’ll probably start spending some of the time I’ve spent showing her to write teaching them something else. They both love to learn, and I hope it’ll help Nepeta if instead of just stopping writing lessons, we move to learning something else. She doesn’t like it when things are different day to day. Meulin’s always looking for something new, but she does go into the village the same two days every week for Nepeta. 

I’ll move to teaching them things about medicine, how to mix them and how to recognize herbs and which ones do what. I think it’s important to know, and it’s…it’s what my real mother taught me. I’ll teach my real daughters what my real mother taught me. 

 

8 November 1631

My girls are quite brilliant. I’ve been showing them how to mix things, and playing games to help memorize the purposes of various herbs and plants I use. They’ll get it in time, and if not, I have Dolora’s old books. She wrote down everything she knew. 

Maybe I should go into the village. Dolora wrote it all down, but most people can’t read. Do they even have a midwife these days? Or is it just the village doctor, bumbling around? He can’t possibly know what he’s doing--Dr. Trevor never did, and he almost killed a woman giving birth before Dolora got there and stopped the bleeding. 

And I do need to make money. I need to buy milk and lard and fabric and thread and shoes, and it would be nice to once in a while buy a book. Dolora only made enough money off selling her medicine to get by, and I can do the same thing. I’ll only charge what I have to, and give away medicine when people need it. 

I think I need some time. I can’t, not right now. I will, soon, but I can’t yet. 

Someday. 

 

11 November 1631

I was reading over my old journals today, and I found some of my old poetry. It was so terrible! How did I ever think that was good? 

But I felt that way again, the way I felt when I wrote the first poem, so I wrote another little snippet of some idea had back then. It’s still terrible, certainly, but no one else reads this!   
To A Little Girl, Continued  
Dying little girl alone on the street  
Sick little body almost empty of heat  
Don’t worry, little girl, I’ve been there, too  
Mama’s coming just to help you

 

15 November 1631

I’ve been busy. For the first time in years and years, I’m busy again. I spend time with my daughters and hunt and cook and make bread and when my girls are in the village, I pour over Dolora’s books as if she is still there, teaching me. 

Meulin is fascinated with medicines, and Nepeta’s interested but she’s most excited to learn to hunt. I told her I’d show her how to use my bow and arrow as soon as she’s big enough. In the meantime, I let her hold my bow, and she could hardly lift it but it was so adorable. 

Maybe I should check the village and see if they have a smaller bow. I used the small one my father gave me for a long time before I bought a proper bow. 

Although…I may still have the toy bow. It might be small enough for her, and for Meulin. I should teach both of them, though Nepeta does seem more interested. I don’t need to wait forever to teach them to shoot, although I don’t want them hunting until they’re older, maybe fourteen. I initially thought sixteen, but that might be too long. 

 

19 November 1631

I do still have the toy bow and arrow from when I was learning how to hunt. I’ll set up those targets on the trees and show my daughters to shoot with the old toy one, and when they’re old enough and big enough they can use my proper bow. 

When they’re old enough and big enough, I’ll teach them to hunt. 

 

22 November 1631

Meulin met another girl today in the village today. A girl named Damara. Meulin tells me she’s a shortish girl, but not too short, with straight dark hair and brown eyes and a kind smile. Apparently she wears a lot of dark red and has a little sister, and she’s Jewish. 

It can’t be anyone else. Hannah’s family was the only Jewish one I knew in this village, and Hannah wore dark red, and Hannah had straight dark hair and brown eyes and a kind smile, and Hannah was shortish but taller than me. Not to mention the name! There cannot be anyone else named Damara in this world. 

Hannah said our daughters would be friends, but they’d never know we were friends. 

What else did Hannah say? 

 

24 November 1631

I was reading back, and Hannah was right down to the letter. I have a daughter and she is friends with Hannah’s daughters. I’ve outlived my love. My daughters is going to be important, somehow. 

I wonder what else my friends said that’s real? 

 

28 November 1631

A few of Meulin’s friends came by today--Latula and Mituna and Damara. They’re an energetic bunch, running around the woods and climbing trees and exploring all those old places my friends and I used to love. 

She knows about the clearing where I buried you. I told her where it is, although she’s never seen it herself. She knows not to play there. 

 

30 November 1631

My mother was wrong. I have to keep writing it. If I don’t write it, I’ll forget it and go back to thinking she was right and I’ve done something wrong. 

My mother was wrong, and my daughters are never going to believe they’ve done something wrong. 

 

3 December 1631

Nepeta brought over some of her friends today, Equius of course and a young girl named Aradia (Hannah’s niece, Eleanor’s daughter, she must be) and a little boy Tavros. The four of them played in the front of the house, with daisies and horseshoes, and it was beyond adorable. 

She’s happy. When she’s with her friends, she smiles big and wild and unrestrained, and she laughs aloud more than I’ve ever heard her. I’m her mother; I can love her, and be there for her when she has nightmares, and teach her everything I know, but I cannot be her friend. 

Meulin went to the village. I’ll meet more of her friends someday, I’m sure. 

 

7 December 1631

It’s Advent now, which I haven’t done anything about in years. I dug out Dolora’s old colorful candles and lit two today, for the second Sunday. Hope and joy. Hope is alive in my daughters, certainly, who may be allowed better futures than I will ever have. And so is joy, when they laugh with their friends and each other and me, too, sometimes. They’re wonderful, my daughters, and I forget very easily that they love me. 

They’re very excited, counting down the days to Christmas. I have to find them presents, and find those old recipes for all the Christmas foods we used to cook together. I haven’t done Christmas dinner in ages. 

 

10 December 1631

My little girls want to help me cook dinner. I told them of course, and it almost hurts. I’ll be cooking Christmas dinner with my family again, only this time it’ll be my dinner instead of Dolora’s. 

I wish Dolora was here. I wish my whole family was here, including my little girls. Luke would be fourteen now, and I’m sure we’d all be helping with Dolora directing, or maybe just us adults would be cooking and the children would be playing, building snowmen and throwing snowballs at each other. 

They’d be happy. We’d all be happy. 

 

14 December 1631

Third Sunday of Advent today, peace. When the snow falls at sunset, quiet and serene, I feel peaceful. When my daughters fall asleep reading on the couch, leaning against each other, they are peaceful. 

Button is never peaceful but she’s a kitten. She pads around the house at all hours of the night, meowing loud enough to wake me up at some absurd hour of the night sometimes. When she curls up on my chest and purrs, that’s peaceful. 

It’s alright. 

 

17 December 1631

Meulin and Nepeta were playing with Button this morning while I was still asleep (how easily I fall into those old terrible sleeping habits from when I was young and the nightmares were not so worn out) when the kitten went up to my room to wake me up and my girls followed. 

“Mama! Mama wake up! Button wants to play!” Nepeta said, shaking me. 

“Hm? I’m awake, I’m awake. What’s happening, Nepeta?”

“Button wants to play.”

“Of course,” I said. “Of course, give me a moment to get dressed.” 

They wake me up so I can play with the kitten. I’m part of a family with them. My two daughters and my kitten. We’re a family. 

 

21 December 1631

Christmas is very soon, and I still don’t know what to get for my daughters. It’s the fourth Sunday of Advent today, and there is no question that there is love in my life now. I just need them to know it. 

It’s their first Christmas with me. Maybe I could give Meulin that bracelet Dolora gave me, the one she gave me my first Christmas with them, except I’ve no idea where it is. And Nepeta…she likes soft clothes, so I was thinking of making her a skirt with this soft cotton I asked Meulin to pick up for me a while back. She rubs soft things between fingers when she’s nervous or tired or there’s just too much happening at once, and a soft skirt might help. 

She also likes to chew on mint leaves when she’s like that, so I try to keep them on hand. It’s peculiar, to be sure, but heaven knows I’m half mad and I’m in no place to tell her how to handle her own mind. Whatever works for her, I’m ready to help her. 

And Meulin…that bracelet would be good. I think it’d help her feel like my daughter, rather than like her sister’s caretaker. I can tell she still does--she’s always trying to take care of her sister first. I just want her to be allowed to be a child. 

My goodness, this was much easier when I just looked for something by Galileo or whoever for Simonn, nice green fabric for Dolora, and a history book for Sigmun. 

 

23 December 1631

They’re all in a tizzy right now, excited for Christmas. I promised them a feast and presents, things they’ve never really had before. Meulin told me in no uncertain terms that she’d been starved as a child, and Nepeta hasn’t said anything but she was as skinny as Meulin when I found her. 

She has been putting on weight, thank heaven. Both of them have. Meulin has my body shape, I think, and though Nepeta’s different, she should never have been that thin. Once they’re really, properly healthy, they’ll both be strong and I’m sure they’ll be brilliant hunters. 

I best start gathering ingredients for the supper. I’m going to need so many things. 

 

25 December 1631

What a lovely Christmas.

The two of them and I cooked turkey and Yorkshire pudding and mincemeat pies and the green beans with the nuts and a Yule log, all those good foods you cook on Christmas. I haven’t felt so light in a long time. It was a delicious meal (how odd that food no longer tastes like cotton) and the whole house felt warm and bright. I found that little bracelet Dolora gave me and I gave it to Meulin and told her it was from my first real Christmas, and I gave Nepeta that green skirt I sewed, a nice soft one with all my embroidery. I wasn’t expecting anything from them, but my two girls gave me this wreath made of pine branches and winterberries and Meulin said, “I thought you’d like it because it’s kind of pretty.”

“It’s beautiful, little love. Thank you very much. I’ll hang it up on the door today.”

“You’re welcome. Thank you, Mama.”

“You’re very welcome.”

Meulin hugged me and put on the bracelet, and then Nepeta squeezed my hand because she doesn’t like hugs. 

“Mama?” Meulin asked.

“Hm?”

“Why don’t you ever go to the market?”

“Well, you’re certainly capable of going on your own.”

“But you could come with me.”

“I can’t, little love.”

“Why not?”

“Today’s not the day for sad stories, little love.”

“Will you tell me someday?”

“Someday I will.”

“Alright,” she said reluctantly. I don’t want to tell them what happened. I don’t want to tell them what I’ve seen and what’s happened to me. I don’t want them to know. But I wonder if they ought to, only because it’s become obvious that they notice all the scars I have. 

I wish they had never noticed. I wish I still had that unscarred skin from when I was little. I wish the only scars I had were the ones on my knee from a cut I got when I was eight and the one on my elbow from falling out a tree when I was ten. I wish, I wish, I wish. I shouldn’t have lived. I’m on borrowed time and I know it.

Why not make the best of my borrowed time?

 

28 December 1631

It’s New Years’ in a few days. I haven’t resolved anything in a while, and I don’t think I will now. But it’s nice that a new year is coming. I’m turning over a new leaf, starting a new family. Maybe I’ll go into town and be the midwife. Maybe I’ll live to a ripe old age and have grandchildren. 

Who knows? Life is full of possibilities, or so I’m told. 

 

31 December 1631

Tomorrow is the new year. My daughters want to stay up until midnight, and I told them they could feel free to try. The old grandfather clock in the library isn’t well-maintained, because I’m too afraid to bring even the young clockmaker to my home, but I set it roughly correct, I think. 

It doesn’t matter much. I measure time by the sun, really. They’ll fall asleep before midnight, and I’ll carry them up to bed, and when they wake up it’ll be 1632 and it will be different. 

It’s very different.


	78. Into the Village

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna has a plan, but there are some obstacles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I've been very on time lately, classes start on Monday, and I am finally delving into quantum mechanics for my physics major, so we shall see. As always, thanks for sticking with me!

1 January 1632

I could be the midwife. I could go into the village and take care of people, quieter than Dolora ever was, but enough. I could be the person I once admired so much, a person who the village needs. I’ve never really been part of this village. It might be my last chance. 

 

3 January 1632

We definitely sold the skates, but I took my girls down to the river to show them to slide around on the frozen surface. They had such fun, slipping and sliding all over the place. Nepeta was laughing aloud, the first time I’ve heard it. It was such a good sound, to hear her laughing. The both of them laughed, really, and I couldn’t help but feel relieved. They know how to laugh. They haven’t lost everything. 

The snow is beautiful. 

 

6 January 1632

I’ve found that part of the reason I thought Nepeta didn’t talk about her parents until just now is because she doesn’t frown, or cry, when she talks about them. Sometimes she’ll even giggle when she talks about being starving. I don’t know if it’s because she’s afraid to show how she really feels about it, or if she doesn’t know how, or if she just expresses herself in a strange way. 

It’s alright, for now. She’ll be okay. 

 

8 January 1632

Meulin loves hugs, long hugs too, and it’s quite something to hold my little girl like I once held my baby Luke. I know she is my daughter when she has nightmares and comes to me and curls up against my side while I comfort her, tell her she’s safe with me and I love her and I won’t let anything happen to her. 

Nepeta’s different. She has exactly as many nightmares, I think, as Meulin does, but when she comes to me she sits cross-legged on my bed and quietly tell me what she’s dreamed. Usually she doesn’t inflect much, but it’s not difficult to read her nonetheless. She’s hurting from it all. 

I wish I knew the medicines to cure them. I wish I could just mix up some herbs and make it all better, but I can’t. It’ll take time and effort. 

But it’s going to be okay. I know it. It has to be. 

 

11 January 1632

I’ve been practicing, making medicines Dolora used to make and boiling bandages and thread and all. I don’t feel…I don’t feel very safe, going into the village. They might hurt me. They might…some guard might see me, and recognize me, and he might kill me. I’m so afraid of the guards. Besides those days in prison, which I can never forget or even avoid thinking about, I still remember what happened in March 1614, and every time I saw them while we were traveling. 

My daughters have been noticing, and asking. I told them I was thinking of joining them in the village someday, to give other people my medicines. I can’t imagine anyone will benefit much, but I want to try to help. I want my daughters to learn how to help people, too. 

 

14 January 1632

I’ll go in spring, when everything’s coming back to life. 

But people get sick more in the winter--I know that as well as most, when my baby boy died of winter fever. Maybe I should go into the village now. Someone’s baby could be dying, and I’m not going to the village right now to help them. 

But some days, even leaving the house is to terrifying to contemplate, much less walk into the village. When I was so empty I wanted to die it was easier, because I wasn’t afraid of a guard seeing me and killing me. Now I have things to live for, and I can hardly stand to leave my home. 

Soon. I’ll do it soon. 

 

18 January 1632

I tried today. I really did. I told myself I’d go to the village and put on my nice dress and laced up my good winter boots, and when I started down the road I couldn’t breathe and I was so afraid I thought I’d faint. I ran back inside and I was trembling all over and my daughters could see something was wrong, so I told them I just had a headache. 

I can’t. I just can’t. 

 

21 January 1632

Meulin loves going into the village, even when it’s cold. But Nepeta does not like the cold, so she only goes once a week. The other day she used to go with Meulin, her friend Equius will come to our house, sometimes with another friend. 

I don’t mind, really. My girls should have friends. It just makes me feel like such a failure, that my eight-year-old daughter can do so many things I can’t. 

 

23 January 1632

I wish so badly that my love was still here. Whenever I needed to feel brave, he told me he knew I could do it, he believed in me, he loved me. I need that right now. I was so afraid to leave home, and I was so afraid in prison, and I was terrified when he died. But he’s gone and he can’t comfort me, not anymore. 

I miss my love. I loved him for almost my whole life and now I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do. 

 

26 January 1632

I sat Meulin down today and explained to her about her bleeding and having breasts and all the rest of it, and she seemed alright with it. She said she hasn’t gotten any bigger yet in her chest, but it’s also true that she was starving for a long time before she and her sister ran away. If someone doesn’t eat, Dolora told me, they lose their breasts and their bleeding. It might take some time until she starts growing that way. Anyways, she’s just twelve. I only started growing that way when I was thirteen or fourteen, and I didn’t notice much until I was fifteen. 

Well, either way, I think she’ll be alright. I’ll tell Nepeta when she’s twelve, too, so she can be ready for it too. 

I’ll explain to them about marriage and men and all that nonsense later, when they’re older. I’ll tell them it’s nothing to be ashamed of, to want someone like that, and tell them that it’s okay if they love women. Oh, and I should tell them about Isabella, just in case they’re actually boys and haven’t figured it out yet. 

I should do that sooner rather than later. I can’t keep calling them my daughters if one of of them is my son. 

 

29 January 1632

It looks like we’ll have enough food. I hunt every other day, because somehow I’m not afraid of the woods like I am of the village, and with the vegetables and herbs we preserved, we’re going to be okay. 

I’ve never felt more relieved. I would starve to feed them, but I’d be afraid that wouldn’t be enough. I just want my daughters to be okay. 

 

31 January 1632

I told my daughters about Isabella today, and Meulin told me right away she’s definitely a girl. Fair enough. Nepeta thought about it for a long moment, and twisted a lock of hair between her fingers, and said she was pretty sure she was a girl. I told both of them that if they ever changed their minds, they could tell me right away and I’d help them pick out a new name. 

I hope that’s enough. I want them to feel safe enough to come to me if they ever need anything. 

 

2 February 1632

I tried again today and got a bit further but I barely made it back before I panicked, my whole body trembling and my whole mind in a terrible panic. I hate those moments. I hate them so much. 

I’ll keep trying. By spring, I’ll make it into the village. I have to--I have to save people if I can. I have to. 

 

4 February 1632

I read a book for fun today. I haven’t done that in years. I even laughed at some of the funny scenes. It was…strange. 

My daughters are doing so much better I can hardly believe it. Meulin has color in her cheeks, and fat on her arms, and strength in her movements. Nepeta has more bounce in her step, and softness to her face, and a pinkness to her lips. They look healthier, and I’m so relieved. They’re going to be okay. 

I love them so much. All I want is good things for them, for them to be happy and do well. I want them to find love in family and friends and maybe a spouse or partner, and I want them to be happy. 

I’ll do all I can to help them. 

 

7 February 1632

I don’t know what I’d do if one of my daughters was hurt in the village. I don’t know if I can go into the village at all! How can I hope to even save my daughters if I can’t leave the house and woods I grew up in? 

Meulin chatters endlessly about the village. I don’t mind, really, but I do feel a little sad when she does because it used to be me, having fun in the village and having friends. I used to be that sort of child, when I played in the village with my friends and felt comfortable and safe there. 

 

10 February 1632

I tried again today. I tried very hard. I got almost out of the woods before I couldn’t walk any further. I felt frozen solid, like I was made of ice. I felt like I couldn’t breathe and I made it back to my home but I could hardly cook. 

I keep making it further, but every time I feel exhausted and sick. If I make it into the village someday, will I even be able to do my work, or will I be shaking too hard to set a bone or stitch a cut? Dolora had such a steady hand. I’m not sure I’ll ever have that. 

 

14 February 1632

Meulin brought home some of her friends today and they skated on the frozen river. I swear the winters have been getting colder and longer! It’s harder now than it was when I was very young to get my plants to grow when the ground’s not thawed as long, and I know many farmers are struggling. Anyways, because it was so cold, I felt alright letting them skate--I wasn’t worried they’d fall in. 

Nepeta stayed inside and read. It was very snowy and she doesn’t like snow much. She always looks very content, curled up with a book next to the fire. She reads slowly and she has to ask me for help with hard words, but I did the same when I was her age, so I’m not worried. 

Well, I’m worried about things constantly, but not these little things. I suppose that’s good--I’d go mad worrying about everything. (As if I’m not already mad.) 

 

17 February 1632

Meulin found Simonn’s old copy of Principia today and asked me what it was and I felt like I’d been stabbed. I managed to tell her it was my best friend’s favorite book when we were younger, and that it was about physics, and luckily that was enough. I miss Simonn so much. He was so kind and funny and wonderful and he wanted to do so much more. He was going to be a father, he was going to be a husband, he was going to find a career he loved, and he was going to try his damnedest to get into university, however he could. He had so much life to live. 

And selfishly, I miss having my best friend around. I loved talking with him and even though we argued, we always loved each other. I love him so much. I miss him. 

 

21 February 1632

My mother was wrong. I know I keep writing it, but I have to believe it, because if I don’t I’m going to lose my mind. She was wrong. She hurt me, and she was wrong. 

It’s mad. I read my old journal and the things she did…locking me in the house and hitting me and that awful hair thinner! How…how could she? How did I ever think that was fine of her to do? 

My daughters smile when they see me. Meulin hugs me tight when she’s afraid. Nepeta squeezes my hand when she tells me how she was afraid. They’re not afraid of me. 

They love me. 

 

24 February 1632

I told Meulin and Nepeta I’d like to walk with them a little ways into the village and then go back because I had to hunt, and with my little girls there, bouncing and laughing and chattering, I felt better and made it further before it was too much and I had to go back. 

I’ll get there. I have to. 

 

26 February 1632

I embroidered the hems of my girls’ cloaks today while they were reading together, aloud to each other like Sigmun and Simonn and I used to. I don’t want people to think they’re rich and try to steal from them, but I do want them to feel beautiful even when the world is gray and cold. Feeling beautiful always helped me feel better overall, and though I hope no one ever makes them feel ugly, I hope they can draw strength wherever it is to be found. Heaven knows it’s hard to be a woman in this world. 

I did a pattern of ivy with little white lilies-of-the-valley for Nepeta, and a pattern of vines with daisies for Meulin. I hope they like it!

 

28 February 1632

I have to say, although I can’t go into the village anymore and I haven’t slept the night through since I was seven and I have to drink my tea every day to keep from choking on my own sadness and grief, I feel so warm inside when they smile at me. I’m their mother. They love me. 

When we sit near the fire in the library, with Button purring on my lap and my daughters reading and my current embroidery project steadily progressing, I feel warm. I feel something, these days. It’s not much, but it’s something. 

I love them, and it’s warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you guys read a pair of sequels about Meulin and Nepeta? I'd probably publish chapters for the two stories alternating Saturdays.


	79. Midwife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna tries, again, to conquer her fears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just barely on time! My physics course this term is really hard, so I typed this in sci-fi club while watching Harry Potter with every line mentioning Sirius Black edited out (because we didn't want to be serious). 
> 
> Thanks, as always for reading!

2 March 1632

I hope the ground thaws soon so I can get back to the garden. I want to plant more herbs, ones for healing people and easing pain. Some of them I have seeds of, because Dolora saved seeds, and some of them I’ll have to find in the woods and transplant. But either way, they’ll be growing in my garden and I’m the one who has to use them. 

I remember the pain medicine Dolora used to mix off the top of my head, the one she kept in a blue jar. I’ll always remember that. 

 

5 March 1632

Meulin was upset today, refusing to do anything besides sit near the fire and pick at the embroidery on her corset, and so I sat next to her and said, “Little love, what’s wrong?” 

“Mama…I’m not good at anything.” 

“What do you mean, little love?” I said. She’s so wonderful and so full of life. She’s going to be able to do anything she wants to. 

“I’m not good at anything. Like my old mother said. I’m just…bad.” 

It felt like I was being stabbed, deep down inside, seeing my little girl say all these things I always felt but never said, all these things I knew about myself when I was her age. 

“Let’s play a game, little love. We’re going to say five things we like about ourselves, alright?”

“Um, alright.”

“I’ll go first. I’m smart, I love my two daughters…I’m…I’m good at embroidery, I can hunt well…and I am fixing up my real mama’s garden.” 

She frowned. “But there’s nothing I like about myself.”

“Think very hard, little love.”

She frowned. “Um…I can read. I…I love my sister and you. Um…I’m helping you in the garden! Uh…um…I did a really nice needlepoint. And…I escaped my old parents. Even though it was real hard.” 

“See, little love, there is plenty to like about you. You are a wonderful girl, and you can do anything you put your mind to. And I love you so, so much, and I always will.” 

Her eyes welled up and she started crying, and she collapsed against me, and so I hugged her for a long time, patting her back and telling her I loved her. I do love her, more than I can say. If she could love herself half as much as I love her, I think she’d know how wonderful she is. 

 

8 March 1632

I heard Meulin and Nepeta talking in the library, and then I heard Meulin say, “Kitty, let’s play a game.”

“Okay.”

“We’re gonna go around and say five things we like about ourselves. I’ll go first.” 

“But that’s a hard game.”

“No it’s not. There’s lots to like about you. I can go first.” 

“Fine.”

“I’m a good reader. I love you a lot. I’m helping Mama in the garden. I did a good needlepoint. And I taught you this game! Your turn.” 

“I’m good at needlepoint. I learned to write. I have a good favorite color. I love you and Mama…and I’m smart, even when people don’t think I am.” 

“See, that was fun!” Meulin said. “And you’re good at lot of things.” 

“Yeah I am,” Nepeta said, and my heart melted to hear it. 

I hope my daughters remember this. It used to make me feel better when things were the worst and when my love and my best friend and I played, I knew that we were all the best of what we could be. I knew that I’d be okay, because we were strong. 

I love them so much. 

 

12 March 1632

I had such a nightmare last night and when I woke up I couldn’t move and I could see a man in my room, a dark figure with a long cloak, and I was so afraid because I thought I could see a knife and I was so afraid he’d kill me and my daughters, and I couldn’t move to stop him. 

And then slowly, slowly, he vanished and I could move again, and while I’m glad I don’t wake up screaming anymore, I’m not sure this is much better. I’ve never been so afraid as I was in that moment. 

I don’t think he’s real. I’ve seen him before, but I don’t think he’s real. I think he’s the nightmare of the man who stole my silver when I was twenty and didn’t know what I was doing, and of the guard from March in 1614, and of Grantt and Orvill when they laughed at us from their thrones. 

 

14 March 1632

I’m glad my girls like going into the village, because it gives me time when I’m not up to the task of living. Sometimes they go play with their friends and instead of hunting or preparing the garden or studying Dolora’s books, I just lie on the sofa or in bed and stare at the ceiling, because everything else just seems impossible. I don’t know why. I used to be able to do things, or so I imagine. Once upon a time I walked to the village every day and chatted with Catherine or Etta, and had dinner with my family, and read every night, and did a million other tiny tasks that exhaust me these days. For heaven’s sake, I had a baby! I couldn’t do that today. 

I don’t know if it’s the melancholy, but odd as it sounds, I hope so. If this is just the person I am, the person I am isn’t worth this life I lead. 

But I can’t think that way anymore. Even if I’m not worth the life I lead, I have my two daughters. I can’t let them think it was their fault. It would hurt them so very badly. They need to know they are loved, know it deep down in their souls, or I fear they’ll never feel loved. I always knew my family loved me, but I never felt it. I want them to feel that they are loved. 

 

17 March 1632

I got so close today. I walked with Meulin and Nepeta all the way to the edge of the forest, and I thought I was going to be able to do it, but then I saw the houses and roads and I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. There were too many people and they all wanted me dead and I was so afraid I could hardly breathe. So I told my daughters to have a good time and I’d see them later, and turned around and almost ran home. 

I’m safe in this home. Why should I leave, when there are so many things that could kill me outside? 

 

21 March 1632

The ground is starting to thaw, thank goodness. I can bring the garden back to life soon, and maybe this year it will look almost as lovely as when it was Dolora’s. 

I could do this if they were with me. If Dolora was here, and too old and achy to go into the village--if Sigmun would walk with me, hold my hand and tell me he trusted me and I’d do great--if Simonn would help me prepare, mix medicines and boil bandages and tell me how he just realized the real significance of the second derivative (I think)--if they were here, I could do this. 

But they’re not. 

I don’t even remember what the second derivative is. 

 

24 March 1632

Meulin all but begged me for a few coins today, to buy sweets in town she said. I told her I’d walk with her and buy her what she liked and then go home, and…I made it into the village. I didn’t say a word to the man selling sweets--hardly even looked him in the eye--and right afterwards I told her I loved her and almost ran home (I did run, once I was in the forest), but I made it to the village. 

No one recognized me. No one said anything to me at all. The man selling sweets either didn’t recognize me or didn’t care. 

I might be able to do it. 

 

26 March 1632

I was so determined to go into the village again when I went to bed last night, but I woke up today so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open. 

My girls were home today, but they don’t mind if I just listen to them read to each other for a while. I don’t do everything I did when I was married and had the work of a household to do (although my family and I split that work then--my love did an awful lot, especially in those lovely months when he didn’t have to fight for his job and I didn’t have to stay home all day), but it’s still a lot of work. 

 

29 March 1632

Nepeta asked me to get a book down for her from a taller shelf today, so I told her what Dolora always told me--she could read what she could reach. She was upset with me, and she sulked for a while, but I don’t want her to be frightened before she’s old enough to understand some of those books. 

She can read what she can reach. She’ll be as tall as I am and she’ll be able to read those books when she’s an adult. 

 

1 April 1632

I went into the village today. I walked with my daughters and when they went to find their friends, I went to the market, near the apothecary, and asked him if he knew where to find the midwife. He told me there was no midwife, just the town doctor. I suspected as much. So I went to find the town doctor, a fellow named Sloan, and talk to him. My heart was pounding, but I hadn’t done so well in years and I wanted to at least tell someone. 

He was young, probably just out of school, and obviously new to town, since I’d never seen him before. “Dr. Sloan,” I said. 

“Who are you?”

“The midwife.” 

“Pardon?”

“I’m the midwife. I live a bit outside of town, and ever since our last doctor left I’ve been noticing not very many women come to me. Since obviously you aren’t helping women give birth, I have no choice but to assume they’ve been doing so alone, and that is unconscionable.” 

“And your name?”

I couldn’t tell him my birth name, and I couldn’t tell him my married name. “Mary Smith,” I said. 

“What, precisely, do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to send pregnant women and women with infants to me. My mother taught me what I need to know; I have everything I need. I won’t have women dying in this town because they don’t know I exist.” 

“And exactly what do you think qualifies you for this?”

“Would you like to see my medical books?” I asked, and his jaw just about dropped to the floor. So I kept talking. “I’ve been able to read and write since I was child. I probably know most everything you do. Will you send me people who need me or not?” 

He closed his mouth, then said, “I--alright. Where should they find you?”

“On the outskirts of town. Tell them to follow the main street all the way into the forest.”

He nodded, stiffly, then said, “I have work to do.”

“Fine. Have a good day.”

“And you.” 

I left, and walked home, and curled up in bed and cried for hours and hours. I could hardly breathe, but I was so terrified and I felt scooped out and exhausted. I wanted so badly to have someone else but there was no one, and I couldn’t even find my toy cat from when I was a little girl and I cried when my mother hit me. 

I’d pulled myself together enough to make dinner by the time my girls came home, but only barely. As much as I can, I want to treat people in my home or in their homes, with women. Strange men make me nervous. I can treat them, but they have the town doctor with all his books and degrees. 

 

4 April 1632

The first woman came to my home today, a woman named Beth. She was about five months along, judging by how she felt and how much she was showing, and she was only about eighteen, so she must’ve been married at seventeen--a bit young. 

“Hello, um, Miss Smith?”

“Call me Mary. What do you need?”

“I’m pregnant,” she said, a bit unnecessarily, and shifted foot to foot. “I need the midwife.”

“Well, that’s me. Come on in, have a seat at the table.” 

She did, and I realized that her hands were trembling. 

“Are you alright?” I asked. “I need you to be honest with me. Do you feel well?”

She nodded. “I--I have never had a baby before.” 

“Oh, dear, don’t worry about it. That’s my job. You were married about five months ago, correct?”

“Six,” she said. 

“Well, you seem to be about five months along,” I say. “So this is a good time to start preparing to give birth. I can teach you things to help it hurt less, and I have some herbs that will help you stay healthy. I can also show you how to feed your little one, once you’re further along.” 

She smiled, still a little shaky. “How did you learn all this?”

“My mother taught me,” I said. “I’m here for you, no matter what you need. That’s what I do.” 

She nodded, and took a breath. “Can I talk to you?”

“If you please.” 

“I’m afraid,” she said, softly. “And I shouldn’t be.” 

“It’s perfectly okay to be afraid,” I said. “I was, when I had my first child. How you feel is how you feel, and there’s nothing wrong with that. This is a scary thing to do, dear, and it’s alright to be afraid.” 

She shrugged. 

“Let me mix you up something for your constitution,” I said. “I’ll give you some tea to make every other night. It’ll help keep you healthy, and the healthy you are, the easier it will be later on.” 

She nodded, and I stood up to get the ingredients. I found the recipe in Dolora’s book, mixed up the herbs, and put it all in a jar for her. I hope she’ll be alright. I mean, it’s my job to make sure she’s alright. 

I hope I can do this. 

 

8 April 1632

I’m so afraid of doing this wrong. If I mess up, she could die--her baby could die. I can’t let any more children die. 

I just can’t. 

 

11 April 1632

Another woman came by today, Emily, almost nine months along. She was quite distressed, because she didn’t know there was a midwife. I told her I’d help her, and then I mixed up some herbs for the pain, and told her how to make a cushion for the curve of her back. I offered her some money for new shoes, because her feet had swollen up like happens to women, sometimes. 

Come to think of it, a man could be pregnant if he was like Isabella, except the other way around. I suppose I would have to not be afraid of strange men in order to treat him. 

I could make myself. If I had to treat him, I could make myself be unafraid of strange men. I made it into the village, even though I was trembling head to foot. I could make myself be unafraid. 

 

14 April 1632

More women--more people who need to be treated. Not enough to overwhelm me, not by half, but every day I have someone come to me for medicine or send someone to their home. 

I haven’t had to help someone give birth yet, but I have everything I need. I boiled all the tools like Dolora did, although I don’t quite understand what that does. It’s what she taught me, and so I do it, because it helped her. 

I’m nervous. I had my baby, and my miscarriages, but I was never…I went with Dolora, sometimes, but I’m afraid to do this on my own. What if I do it wrong? 

What if I kill a baby? 

 

18 April 1632

My Meulin asked today if she could help me, and I told her she could learn how to make medicines and boil bandages. And then Nepeta jumped in once I told Meulin yes and asked if she could put the herbs, dried and fresh, in jars. I told her of course she could, because heaven knows I don’t mind the help and she likes it. 

I can teach them to be the midwife. They can do that when they grow up. I can give them something to do, some way to make their own living so they don’t have to marry. I want that for them. 

 

22 April 1632

Emily’s date to give birth is drawing ever closer, and I’m getting more and more nervous. Her husband will come, day or night, if it’s her time, and I have to be ready. She’s the one I met a few days ago, almost nine months along. 

My daughters won’t come. If I do it wrong, they shouldn’t have to see someone die. 

 

25 April 1632

Emily’s husband ran all the way to my house and I ran all the way to Emily’s house, but she wasn’t going into labor--she was just having those false pains. 

I calmed her down and gave her something for the stress, and the pain, and then went home. 

That was exhausting. I hope next time I at least deliver a baby for it. 

 

28 April 1632

Meulin brought her friends over today, and they played in the woods, and they asked me for snacks, and they seemed to have fun. Nepeta sat inside with her needlepoint, and seemed pretty happy. 

They’re alright. They’re going to be alright. 

 

31 April 1632

Emily had her baby today. Her husband ran all the way to my house--again, and I brought all my things, and when I got there, Emily’s face was all twisted up in pain. 

“I--Mary--”

“It’s alright, Emily,” I said. “It’s alright. Here, breathe with me, in and out. Come on. Breathe.” 

She calmed down, and breathed slower with me. 

“Everything is going to be okay. I’m going to ask you to sit here, hike up your skirts…now breathe deep, breathe with me.” 

It was okay. I got there just as she was beginning to have the real contractions. It’s her second baby--she’s about twenty--so it didn’t take as long as it might, and she didn’t panic at the first blood. It started to hurt for her and she couldn’t talk so well, so I just rubbed her back and helped her breathe, and I helped her by giving her herbs for the pain. 

I told her when it was safe to push, and she didn’t quite throw up, but it seemed close. I told her when to push, and when to push less, and she did it all perfectly, and then finally her baby was born. I swaddled the baby like Dolora showed me, and I told her to hold the baby to her chest, and then helped her with the afterbirth. 

“What’s her name?” I asked, once she was safely in bed. 

“Catherine,” she said. 

“A lovely name,” I said, and I helped her to bed. “I’m going to go tell your husband, and then I’ll be right back. Close your eyes, dear, and get some rest. You’ve earned it.” 

“Alright,” she said vaguely. 

So I told her husband all was well, and then sat with her for a while, until I was sure she’d be okay. I told her I’d be back to check on her for a while, and then I left. 

My daughters knew this might happen, and they were alright. They ate the dinner I’d prepared, and read together, and they were both awake when I got home somewhat past dark. So I walked them to bed, and tucked them in, and told them I would always come home. 

I’ll always come home to them.


	80. Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna thinks about her choices and deals with new responsibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Classes this term have been very stressful, so if my timing slips, I'm sorry! I can't believe how far I've come with this story. Thank you all so much for reading.

1 May 1632

It doesn’t take long to be established as the midwife, apparently, if there hasn’t been one in years. Already more women have come to me for medicine, mostly women with young children or who are pregnant. 

It is…harder than I thought to care for women who are having children. I have my daughters now, but I still miss my little Luke. It still aches to think of him, and now I’m seeing women every day who have little children of their own, happy little ones with lives ahead of them. 

I have my daughters, of course, but that doesn’t seem to soften the blow. 

 

3 May 1632

I never realized how much Dolora did. So many women come to see me, or send someone to me so I can see them in their homes. I haven’t been so tired since I was traveling. Some nights Meulin makes dinner because I’m so tired I can hardly stand. 

I can’t do this. I can’t be like this. I need to help people, I need to save them. I need to do more. 

I’m not done. 

 

6 May 1632

Everyone needs my help. Every single day people need me and I have to help all of them, and I’m so tired. I need to feed my children and I have no time to spend with them. I don’t know how Dolora did this and still had time for us. 

I can’t do this. I’ve been working for not a month and I’m exhausted. I feel like a fire run out of fuel. I can’t keep doing this. 

 

8 May 1632

I thought I was good enough but I’m not, I’m not enough. My daughters can tell I’m getting worse but I can’t stop it, I can’t. I forget my tea most days and I can’t. I’m useless. Dolora could do all this--she could treat everyone she needed to and she didn’t feel like this. 

I’m not good enough. 

 

11 May 1632

My heart is breaking for my daughters, because today I woke up and I couldn’t get out of bed. I just…couldn’t. And Meulin came to my room with a cup of my tea and said, “Mama, are you sick?” 

“Yes, little love.” 

“Can I make you a medicine?” 

“I…no, little love. There’s nothing for this.”

“Mama, are you dying?” I could hear the panic welling up in her throat and it hurt. 

“No, little love, not at all. Come here, come sit with me.” 

She crawled up on my bed and I hugged her, and she hugged me back. “Little love, my mind…my mind is sick. It’s not catching, and it’s not dangerous. But it makes it very hard for me to do things, sometimes. Today is one of those days.” 

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“I’m going to be okay, little love. I’m going to be just fine.” 

I could feel her crying, and I knew she was scared that I was going to die, when I was the only person she’d ever been able to rely on. 

She needs me, and I’m not enough. 

I’m not going to be just fine. 

 

14 May 1632

I’ve told everyone I’m ill and cannot be called except for emergencies. It’s true--I am sick. My mind is sick. Getting out of bed is a struggle and feeding my daughters is almost too much. I’m not good enough. 

If my love were here, he’d tell me to pace myself, that this was too much, too fast, that I was capable of it if I went slower. He believed in me. 

I don’t know why, if my love believed in me, I have no faith in myself. 

 

17 May 1632

I’ve decided to try praying, a little. Last night I tried praying for strength, and I don’t feel any stronger but I did feel a little…peaceful, I guess. I don’t know if that’s because God was listening to me, if she is real, or if I thought that’s how prayer should make you feel, but I did feel a little calmer. 

I need to help people. I need to get back to it. I just can’t. 

 

21 May 1632

My Meulin brought me tea again today because I didn’t leave my room until noon. I told her thank you, but she doesn’t have to, and she said she just wanted me to feel better and not sick. 

It’s so kind of her. She shouldn’t have to do this--I’m her mother! I should be taking care of her! I wish I still had someone to take care of me. I know that’s pathetic, I’m an adult and I have to take care of myself, but I’m so tired. My love took care of me when I was ill or very pregnant. Dolora took care of me when I was a child. I don’t know what to do now. 

 

25 May 1632

I dragged myself out of bed today with the help of a cup of tea and helped a couple of women who were not immediately in danger. I’m lucky no one’s given birth these past couple of weeks. I’m in no shape to handle something like that. 

My daughters, Meulin especially, looked so relieved. I know they need me to be more than I am, but I can’t do that. I’m only what I am, no more. 

I hope it’s enough. 

 

28 May 1632

I felt even a little better today. I think I just have to do this slowly, really, ease myself into it. If I treat a few women every day, I think I might be able to manage. I’m sure I can manage somehow. 

Meulin wants to help me. If she helps me out, maybe I can manage to do a bit more. She’s old enough to start doing some work, as long as she studies, too. I won’t have them stop studying until they’re old enough to do it on their own. 

But she can help. When she’s my age, she’ll be able to live on her own, without a man. 

 

31 May 1632

I’m awful. I woke up this morning and I could hardly move, and all I could feel was exhausted and heartsick. I miss my family so much. I just want them back. I just want it to be the way it was before, when we were a happy family and my love was teaching our baby to walk and my real mother was the best midwife the town had ever known, when my dearest friend and his love were happy together and I had a future in front of me. 

Why did I ever agree to this? Why did I ever agree to leave? 

 

3 June 1632

I managed today. I’ve been putting more of the St. John’s Wort into my tea, and I think it’s helping. I hope so, anyways. I need to help people. I need to finish this. 

I know this sounds pathetic, but I just want a hug. I want my love to hold me for a little while and tell me he loves me. I just want to feel better. 

 

7 June 1632

I slept better last night, only a few nightmares. But today I did my job well enough. I helped Janet prepare to give birth, which is in a week or so if I counted right. I need to be better in a week or so, so I can help her. Giving birth alone is how women die, and I won’t let that happen anymore. Not anymore. 

 

10 Jun 1632

I felt alright today. I didn’t feel like dying. I managed. 

 

12 June 1632

My little girls brought over some of their friends today, to have a birthday. I made them a cake--much better than the one we made for Dolora’s birthday all those years ago--and they all had a slice and played together in the forest. It’s Simonn’s relatives, Mituna and Sollux, and while they’re four years apart like my girls they were born the same day. 

They had fun, and I did my work. 

 

16 June 1632

Janet gave birth today, and I managed. I helped her breathe deep and know when to push, and…there was a moment, when she was bleeding and I felt my heart pounding but I managed to stop the bleeding and she was alright, and so was her baby. 

I’m not awful at this, I suppose. I’ve helped women have children safely, and I think it’ll be okay. 

 

19 June 1632

I taught Meulin and Nepeta today how to mix the pain medicine, the one Dolora always gave me when I had my bleeding. It’s the most important medicine I ever learned, and the first. Heaven knows it got me out of bed when days the bleeding was the worst. 

They’ll need it soon. 

 

22 June 1632

My Meulin has been getting to be quite the shot. She hits the middle circle most all of the time, and she’s been practicing most days. Nepeta watches her, and she keeps begging me to teach her, too. I told her I’ll teach her when she’s twelve, like Meulin. I’m worried she’d hurt herself. She’s only eight! 

Seeing them makes me so happy. When I see them, I feel so light inside it’s like I could float. On my worst days, just seeing my little girls smile does makes me feel slightly less terrible. 

 

25 June 1632

I can’t regret it. I want it to be like it was before but I said yes for a reason, I left home for a reason. I can’t regret what I did. 

 

29 June 1632

Today no one needed me, not really, and so my daughters and I sat together in front of the house and made crowns out of flowers. I felt so calm and safe, like nothing could ever hurt me. My Nepeta gave me one of hers, one made of daisies the color of my hair when I was a little child. And Meulin made one for her sister out of those purple flowers that grow around the path. 

I felt alright. 

I think I’m going to be alright.


	81. Geraldine's Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One of the women in the village has a baby. It goes...not so well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, sorry this was almost late! I meant to write it yesterday but I got distracted by writing a four-page epic-type poem entirely in heroic couplets about a real weird dream I had, which I am now turning in for a grade. 
> 
> As ever, thank you so much!

2 July 1632

My love’s birthday is soon. I don’t always remember things these days, but it never used to rain on his birthday and now it does every year. I wish it wouldn’t. It just reminds me that he’s gone and he can’t ever come back to me. But there’s nothing to be done about bad weather, and nothing I can pray or say that will change it. 

My daughter’s birthdays are also soon. I can’t believe they’ve been with me for more than a year. I didn’t notice the day of, because heaven knows my memory’s not what it used to be, but they have birthdays soon, and I can remember that. 

 

5 July 1632

I’m managing a little better. I don’t feel like I might die at the end of every day, and I’ve been treating women who need me. Although I mostly have to work in my home, because going to the village is exhausting. I can’t let my guard down even when I’m just trying to measure out the amount of pain medicine to give a woman whose bleeding is unbearable. I always feel like there’s a guard just behind me who’s going to recognize me and turn me in, and this time Candas would certainly kill me. 

I can’t help but worry about my daughters, too, when I’m in the village. I know they go to the village all on their own, but I’m worried someone will connect them to me and then they’ll be in trouble, too. Someone might even send them back to their birth parents, and I can’t let that happen. 

 

9 July 1632

My Meulin brought her friends home today, like she does sometimes. They’re sweet, although I have a sense there’s more of them now than there were at first. That’s good, I suppose. It’s good for her to have plenty of friends, I think. Nepeta just brought over her friend Equius. She has quite a few friends, but she’s very close with Equius. I think it’s good for her, because she likes to do the same things every day and he doesn’t mind that. 

They’re alright. Meulin worries about me, sometimes, but I think it’s getting better. She doesn’t keep making me tea, which is good. Nepeta is too young to pick up on all that--she’s only eight--but she can tell when I’m not doing especially well. Those days she gives me flowers she picked in the woods, and it’s so sweet of her. It sounds absurd, but having those lovely flowers in a cup with water makes me feel just a little better. 

 

13 July 1632

Tomorrow is my love’s birthday, and today it was cloudy. I think it’s going to rain tomorrow. 

 

14 July 1632

It did rain today, and I was so tired I could hardly get out of bed. I always get a headache when it rains these days, and today I just had this awful headache and I missed him so much. I did what I have to do, like I do every day, but I miss him so much. I missed my best friend and my real mother and just…everyone. I missed my baby boy. I see him in my daughters, and some days I think it might just kill me. Nepeta has Luke’s sweet smile, and Meulin has his curly hair. I suppose…they are related to me. So I suppose they must share some traits with him. 

Meulin asked me today if I was alright because I was acting strange today, and I told her that today was my love’s birthday, and I missed him. It’s more than that, and I try very hard not to let on how much I hurt because it would worry them. 

I prayed today. I prayed for my love’s soul, that wherever he is he’s alright. I want him to be in heaven, and I don’t know if me asking God to keep my love safe even means anything but I have to try. 

 

17 July 1632

I asked Meulin what she wanted for her birthday. 

“Um…can I have a book?” 

“Sure, little love. What kind of book?” 

“A book about a girl on an adventure! Like all the other books about boys.” 

“I--I will look for a book like that, little love, but I don’t know if I can find one.” 

“What? Why not?” 

“I don’t know, little love. Most people who can write are men, I suppose, and they don’t write stories about girls.” 

“Why not? I can write a story about a boy if I want to.” 

I couldn’t explain to her that men don’t think women are people, that men hurt us and no one stops them, that men think we’re more emotional but claim to feel things more deeply than we do when they call us coldhearted, that men say they love us but they don’t even respect us. I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. 

“You could, and those men could. But they don’t. And so I will try my best, but I can’t promise you.” 

“Then I’ll write it,” Meulin said, her jaw set firm and determined. 

“Good, little love,” I said. “I’ll read it, and it will be wonderful.” 

She smiled and said, “Where’s the paper, Mama?” 

“I’ll show you,” I said. It’s a lot of paper, but if she wants to tell her own story who am I to stop her? Maybe I’ll get her a blank book like mine. She might like to keep a journal. Heaven knows it’s kept me sane. 

On that note, Nepeta’s writing is getting better every day. She reads very well, too. She’s almost nine and she reads better than I did at that age. She’s smart as a whip. I worry about her talking differently than most people sometimes, but I think it’ll be alright. Heaven knows I don’t talk like most people myself, and I’m alright. 

 

23 July 1632

I’ve been writing less lately. I suppose that’s good, because normally I write the most when I’m the emptiest. I suppose not wanting to be dead every time I wake up is an improvement. 

Well, my daughters and the women of the village do keep me busy. I have a lot to do. It keeps my mind off things, sometimes. 

 

28 July 1632

It’s so hot that people have been getting sick from it. I remember what Dolora always did--take people to the river, have them drink water I boiled a while ago so it’s not so hot, and then get them to eat a little before they go home. 

I suppose I know what I’m doing, a little. I did help a child today who was very ill. I do have a sort of job, and a direction to my life. My children and my cat are both still alive. It’s going to be okay. 

 

5 August 1632

Today was Nepeta’s birthday. I got her a book of embroidery patterns and thread like she asked for, and her face lit up with this huge, adorable smile. It was so precious. I’m so glad she has things she likes to do, and I’m glad there are things that make her happy. She deserves to be happy. Although, they are my daughters--of course I want all the good things in the world for them. I want them to have a better life than I’ve had, more chances and more happiness. 

I suppose that’s why we left, in the first place. We wanted a better world for our children. That’s what I’m building now. 

She’s nine now. She’s getting older. Before I know it she’ll be nineteen and getting married. 

 

15 August 1632

We celebrated Meulin’s birthday today. I found a book that wasn’t about a girl but it was about a woman who had her own adventure. It’s not the best book I’ve ever read and someone else definitely had it before I did, but it made my daughter’s face absolutely light up with joy. 

The two of them…they’re happy. They’re happy in ways I can never be. I never was and never will be happy like they are, but I don’t care one bit. I’m their mother. Their happiness makes me happy, and though I can never be happy like they are, I can be happy in new ways. 

I don’t think I’ll ever truly have nothing. I never have. Even at my worst, I always had myself. 

 

22 August 1632

Today was my thirty-seventh birthday. I’m getting old. I’m as old as Dolora was when my love and I were first caring for our little Luke. I thought back then that she knew everything, every secret the world had to offer. I love her, but I know better now. I don’t know everything. I hardly know anything. 

And my daughters look at me like I know everything. I don’t. I don’t know hardly anything. 

I won’t tell them. They don’t need to know. 

 

30 August 1632

I’m so tired. I helped a woman give birth last night and it was…it was exhausting. She almost didn’t make it but I managed to stop the bleeding and her baby…her baby is too small. I know how big babies are supposed to be when they’re born--I had one myself--and hers is too small. 

I worry. 

 

4 September 1632

Her baby isn’t going to make it. Yesterday was my baby boy’s birthday and Geraldine’s baby girl isn’t going to make it. 

I might die for the grief. 

 

11 September 1632

The little girl died today. I did everything I could but it wasn’t enough. Geraldine didn’t even name her baby because…because we knew. We all knew. Sometimes these things happen and there’s nothing to be done. 

I’m going to bed. I’m too tired to stay awake. 

 

17 September 1632

I woke up this morning seized by panic and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe. And then I was breathing too fast and too much and I couldn’t stop and I needed to…I don’t know what I needed, but I was so afraid I couldn’t move. 

Finally I managed to get out of bed and tell my daughters good morning and it was time for breakfast. They’ve been worrying about me, because they can tell, but this grief is too much. When my little Luke died…I broke. This is like breaking again. 

I don’t know how Dolora did it. 

 

25 September 1632

My Nepeta helped me sort medicines today. I haven’t left my home to treat anyone in days. She touched my hand, very gently, and said, “Mama, did the baby die?”

“Yes, Nepeta. She did.” 

She frowned. “That’s very sad.”

“It is,” I said, and my eye were tearing up. “It is very sad indeed.” 

“Are you gonna be okay, Mama?”

“I will be, Nepeta. I will be.” 

I will be. 

 

30 September 1632

Elizabeth is going to give birth in a few days. I need to be there for her. I need to keep her and her baby alive. 

I need to. I don’t know if I can.


	82. Patrik

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna meets an old friend of hers and continues to raise her kids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has been a very strange week for me--including that I was not writing this at the very last minute in scifi club while we watch Gravity Falls. Thanks for sticking with me :)

2 October 1632

All Souls’ and All Saints’ are happening soon. I suppose I’ll go with my girls into the village again, which terrifies me slightly less than it used to. (I feel as if these comparisons I make mean nothing. I used to not be able to force myself to go into the village. I suppose getting there and being utterly drained of energy after an hour is progress.) They’ll have fun, anyways. I’m not sure I’ll do much of anything. 

 

8 October 1632

Today Mary told me that Caroline told her that the reverend wants to speak with me. It’s not old Reverend Rydberg--he passed years ago--but some new fellow named Maxwell who heard about Geraldine’s little one. Apparently he’s upset with me. 

There’s nothing to be done about it. I’m terrified of him and I don’t know what I can say that will make this any better. Children die sometimes and I did my best--I tried so hard. I tried everything I know. I tried everything I’d ever heard of, and the little one still died. I don’t know how I can tell him without breaking down crying myself. 

 

15 October 1632

I suppose Reverend Maxwell just got fed up with my reclusive old-ladiness, because today he knocked on my door (three times, very sharp) and called, “Is there a Mrs. Vantas here?” 

I opened the door, and although I was sure he could see me trembling, I said, “There is. What do you want?” 

“My name is Reverend Maxwell and I’d like to know what your business is.” 

“My business is helping the women and children of this town. I’ve lived here most of my life; I ought to help the people who live here.” 

“And yet Geraldine’s child died.” 

“Sometimes children die, Reverend Maxwell. You’re a learned man; surely you must know that.” I could hardly speak through the tightness in my throat. It was like I’d swallowed a prickly pear leaf. 

“You’re in the business of countering God’s punishment to Eve for the original sin.” 

“And you’re in the business of preaching. Are you working the land like Adam?” 

He went a bit red, but said, “This world needs preachers. We help other men talk with God.”

“And this world needs midwives, too--we help women. I have work to do, sir, and my daughters need their lunch. May I show you the door?” 

“I don’t suppose I have much of a choice,” he said bitterly. 

“No,” I said. “You don’t. Have a nice day, Reverend.” 

He left, looking like he’d let his tea steep too long, and I collapsed into a chair and didn’t move for an hour. 

I know I’m right. I know I’m doing the right thing to help women. I don’t know why he can’t see that. 

 

23 October 1632

It went better today with Elizabeth today. It was her second child, so she knew what was going to happen, and it was easier for her. Her baby lived. 

That’s good, I suppose. It is good that the baby lived. I could not be more relieved about that, especially with this new reverend in town. I don’t ever want to speak with him again. He does not seem like a cruel man, but my goodness, he’s the reverend, and he has more power than I could ever hold. 

I’ll help Mary out over these next few days, and hopefully her baby lives. 

I don’t know how I’m going to do this if children keep dying. 

 

30 October 1632

Tomorrow is All Souls’ and of course my little girls want to go into the village for the festival. So I said yes, and I’ll go this year with my hood over my head. I normally wear my love’s cloak when I need to cover my face, because he was taller than me (isn’t everyone) and so his cloak’s hood pulls low over my face. 

My girls don’t question it, although they see their friends’ parents walking around without fear. They don’t know much about my life before them, and I’m alright with that. It’s better that way. 

 

31 October 1632

The festival was lovely as it always is, with Mr. Jacobson and Mrs. Topham playing fiddle and the lights and the food and the dancing. And although I used to dance my heart out every year, I contented myself with watching as I do these days. 

That’s not important. What is important is that while I was watching, I noticed someone else trying hard not to be seen. The person was tall, and kept their head down, and didn’t speak to anyone else--much like me, a specter in a brighter world. 

I think I know who it could be. I hope it isn’t. 

 

1 November 1632

All Saints’ today, of course. My girls had their fun, but I…I had quite the day. 

I was right--the figure in the square was Patrik. Today while I was watching the dancing and tapping my feet to the tune, I felt someone behind me and turned around, and it was him. 

“Don’t talk to me,” I said. 

“I’m sorry.”

“I said not to talk to me,” I said again. I never wanted to see his face again. 

“She made me,” he said, desperate. “I had no choice.”

“You had a choice,” I said. “You let me go.” 

“He was dying,” Patrik said, and I was so furious with him I could hardly breathe. 

“Maybe he was,” I said. “But you never gave me the chance to find out. Leave me alone.” 

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I turned away and I suppose he understood what I was saying, because he finally left me alone. 

I don’t think I hate him. He was my friend when we were very young. But my goodness, I’m so angry. 

 

7 November 1632

Rebecca brought a sick child to me today and I recognized it right away as winter fever and today is the day my little Luke died so many years ago, and I thought I might cry. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can do, and I don’t know if I can even treat this child without breaking down in tears. 

Maybe I’ll ask Meulin to help me. If she’s around I can’t cry, and normally I’m better at dealing with things if I have to keep up appearances for my daughters. 

I know I should be able to do things on my own, but I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon. I just can’t. 

 

13 November 1632

Rebecca’s little one is getting better, thank heaven. She’s not a year yet, so she doesn’t have a name, but Rebecca wants to name her Margerie. 

A name will come in time. It’s not safe to name a child too early, and I know I shouldn’t have done it. I just believed so much that it wouldn’t happen with me, not when I had Dolora and everyone to help me. 

He was fourteen months when he died. He would’ve had a name no matter what. 

 

20 November 1632

I don’t know how I’m going to do this come winter. More people get sick in the winter, especially with winter fever, and I’m not sure I could stand it if someone died if winter fever--especially a child. 

I truly don’t understand how Dolora did this. I can hardly stand to see one child ill, much less the dozens of them in the village. And my little girls worry, too--they can tell how hard this is for me. 

I try to do everything Dolora did when I was young to keep them safe from the illnesses I encounter. They’re old enough, now. And if Nepeta lived through smallpox, she can live through most anything. 

 

28 November 1632

First Sunday of Advent today. I lit the candle for hope at supper and told my girls that there is always hope, always something. I didn’t tell them how I once wanted to die, about how I never really had nothing--I always had myself. But I told them that there’s always something. 

 

5 December 1632

Second Sunday today, for joy. I tell my daughters to be joyful, to take pleasure in small things, to let themselves enjoy the world unreservedly, but I do none of these things myself. 

I try, of course. I try every day to feel happy, but it’s so tiring after too long. After all these years of feeling sad, it’s tremendously difficult to be happy. One of these days I imagine it will be natural to feel happy, but not now. 

Merry Christmas, I suppose. 

 

12 December 1632

Peace today, the pink candle. I suppose peace could apply to my life right now. No one’s actively trying to kill me (including myself) most of the time, and things are sort of alright. 

But then, having to help someone give birth once a month could hardly be described as restful, under any circumstances. And the fact that children and mothers die is almost unbearable. I’ve just seen so much death…I’m exhausted. 

I suppose a deep sleep of exhaustion is its own kind of peace. 

 

19 December 1632

Christmas is in just a few days, and today is the last Sunday of Advent--love. I do love my daughters, more than I can say. And I love my family, still, after all these years. I don’t think I’ll ever not love them. I don’t think I’m capable of that. 

 

25 December 1632

Merry Christmas! We made Christmas supper today, my daughters and I, and it was delicious. I didn’t eat much, of course, because I can never eat much. I need to put on some weight, considering I know how much I’m supposed to look and this is not it. I look ill; sometimes women who come to see me for medicine are concerned I am ill. 

Well, it was a nice day. I did make myself eat more than I initially thought I would be able to, and my daughters ate a good amount too. I know it’s been more than a year, but I’m still so relieved they’re not so skinny anymore. Nepeta’s still thin, but I think that’s just how her body is. She looks healthy; they both do. 

I have to hunt more often now than I did before, but I’m alright with that, I think. It gets me out of the house, and it’s good to keep in practice so I can teach my daughters when they’re older. 

I gave them presents, too. I gave Meulin a blouse with the best embroidery I could manage, and Nepeta a necklace on a chain for her to zip back and forth. The two of them were so delighted, and then they gave me a nice spool of thread from the village. It was just so sweet, I thought I’d cry. 

I love them. They’re my family. 

 

31 December 1632

Tomorrow is the new year. Soon it’ll be two years since I found my girls. My body still aches every day and I still wake up every morning with the worst headache and my whole mind still hates me, but now I have a family. 

Now all I have to worry about is helping them grow up to be healthy and happy, with options other than marriage. 

That’s all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd appreciate comments :) I know you guys are as busy as I am but I do appreciate it.


	83. It's Quiet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna continues to deal with her past, and Patrik tries to deal with his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm starting another editing binge, so I'll be rewriting and replacing some of the earlier chapters up to 20. I'll have the regular once every other week ones plus better chapters from earlier!

1 January 1633

Another new year. I can’t believe how quickly time goes by these days! I feel as if it’s faster every year. Maybe it’s just my girls. They live life so much faster than I do, always looking for the next thing to do or the next thing to do. 

Nepeta’s best friend, this Equius she sees every time she goes into the village--I’m glad she’s happy, but my goodness, he looks like his father. 

 

6 January 1633

Now that I know Patrik is back in our village (heaven only knows why or how), I can’t help but feel even more on guard when I go into the village to do my work. I don’t know what he wants from me. He killed my husband! He only didn’t kill me because I begged him! What on Earth could he possibly want from me? 

I suppose he wants to be forgiven. But I’m not sure I can grant him that, not now. 

 

13 January 1633

Today while I was in the market buying herbs and such, I saw Patrik again. He came up to me while I was picking out what I wanted and the apothecary was busy with someone else and said, “Di--Disciple. I know what I did was wrong. I should not have…I should not have killed him. I’m so sorry.” 

“I know you are,” I said. “But you did. And he’s gone.”

“I let you go,” he tried. 

“Patrik…I know you want me to forgive you. But right now I just need time.” 

“It has been ten years.” 

“And it hasn’t gotten any easier, alright? You can’t tell me how quickly I’m supposed to stop grieving!”

“I--but…” He looked down, ashamed, and stepped back. 

“Patrik. I just can’t see you right now. I need time,” I said. 

He sighed, and nodded, and said, “I understand. I’m sorry to have bothered you. If…” He swallowed. “If you ever wish to speak with me, you need only write.” 

“I know,” I said. “Thank you.” 

The apothecary came back over and said, “Is he bothering you, Miss Smith?” He’s young, and so just calls me Miss Smith. Most of the women I treat call me Mary. I’d rather be called Dianna, but I can’t. 

“No, thank you. Just the willow and some of the St. John’s Wort, please.” 

“Alright, Miss Smith.” 

I paid him and went home, and then I curled up on my bed and cried for a while. Patrik killed my love. He let me go, but he killed my love. I’m so furious with him sometimes I can hardly breathe. I just can’t forgive him yet. 

I need some time. 

 

19 January 1633

It’s very strange being called a different name. I’m not sure I like it. I’ve been Dianna my whole life. My last name has changed three--four times, now, but I’ve always been Dianna. I’m only Mary to the village (I’m Dianna, really), but being called Mary is just strange. I don’t like it one bit. 

It’s something I can stand, for the sake of helping the people who need me. But, like leaving my home, that doesn’t mean I have to like it. 

 

25 January 1633

Damn it all. I should’ve known this would come back to haunt me. My girls know my name is Dianna, but it wasn’t until today that a woman from the village--Jean--called me Mary. And Meulin asked me about it. 

“Mama, I thought your name was Dianna?” 

“It is, little love.”

“So why do they call you Mary?” 

“Because…sometimes people use different names for different reasons. I changed my last name when I got married, and now I just use a different name with the village.” 

“What was your last name before you were married, Mama?”

“That doesn’t matter, little love.” 

“Do I have to change my last name when I get married?” 

“Well…you don’t have to get married. And then…well, I suppose not, if you don’t want to. I didn’t much like my last name before I was married, so I changed it.” 

“How can you not like your last name?”

That was something I did not want to explain to her. I used to have her last name and I had no idea how to explain that to her without it wrecking her already-fragile relationship with her family name (she’s mentioned before she doesn’t like it). 

“It was my blood mother and father’s last name, and I did not get along with them very well. Little love…I can’t talk about this more, right now. How was your day in the village?” 

And she told me about her day. 

 

31 January 1633

I miss my family. I miss them so much. I know it’s been ten years. I know they’ve been dead and gone so long I’m not sure anyone remembers us or anything we did anymore but I miss them so much. 

I used to be so afraid to lose them. Now I know I was right. 

 

4 February 1633

It’s still freezing cold, but I don’t need to wear my love’s cloak over my own so often anymore. 

Sometimes I’m self-aware enough to realize that it’s probably awful for me to wear my love’s cloak still, after all these years, but I…I love him so much. To get rid of these things that used to be theirs, to throw away Dolora’s clothes or Simonn’s nigh-unreadable copy of principia or Sigmun’s grey cloak, would be to let them go. 

And I can’t let them go. 

 

10 February 1633

Nepeta’s friend Equius was over today, as he often is. He is just the mirror image of his father. They’re not identical, not like Patrik and Meulin’s friend Horuss (who is, thankfully, rarely over), but he reminds me so much of when Patrik and I were friends when we were children. He was my first friend, even before Sigmun and Simonn, and when I was just five years old I remember he could pick me up like I weighed nothing. 

He talks like his father does, sort of stiff and awkward sometimes. I don’t know what to think about that. But the little one speaks German, too, so maybe Patrik taught them German first. It would make sense. 

 

17 February 1633

I can never forgive Candas or Grantt or Orvill. They were cruel and Candas betrayed the trust I loved so much about my love and Grantt sent me those letters right after my love died and Orvill taunted me when my love was dying. 

And Patrik…he did what he was told without question, which is a terrible thing, but he let me go. He stopped. Maybe he’s learned to question. Maybe…I can’t forgive him yet. But I think there’s time. I have time. 

 

23 February 1633

I can’t stand to see Patrik’s face. I can hardly manage to see his sons in my home. I know, for sure, I don’t hate him, but I am so very angry. He did what he was told. He did what he was supposed to. I used to think that way, but my family--they taught me better. Even before we left home, I was breaking rules. I had my job and my love took care of our baby and I knew I could live my whole life without getting married. 

He did what he was supposed to, and he killed my love. He didn’t do what he was supposed to, and he didn’t kill me. 

I can’t help the anger. I think I just need time for the fire to burn out. 

 

28 February 1633

I could do it, theoretically. I could write to him and tell him he’s forgiven, he’s free. I could tell him I’m not angry anymore. 

But then I’d be lying to him, and he was my friend when I was a child, and I can’t do that.  The worst thing in my life happened because I lied, and I won’t let that happen again. I shouldn’t have lied to my love. I won’t lie to Patrik now. 

 

5 March 1633

Beth is having her baby in a few days. I really hope everyone is alright because every time someone dies or even comes remotely close, I can feel my throat tighten with terror and I just know that this time is the last time I’ll ever help someone have their baby and someone’s going to kill me and my daughters will be all alone. 

I hope this one isn’t the one. 

 

13 March 1633

Little James was born today. But Beth isn’t doing very well, and she’s not eating. She needs to eat, not just for her little one but for herself. I’m worried about her. 

 

17 March 1633

Beth died today. 

I tried so hard. I gave her food and I did my best to stop the bleeding and I mixed up every medicine I know and she still died. I try so hard, every time, but sometimes people die and I just want to help. I just want things to be better. 

Dolora did so much better than me. She saved so many people, and I’m just letting people die. 

 

24 March 1633

I tried praying today. Sometimes it makes me feel better, and today…I don’t know. I know that my mother was wrong, but everything else…I couldn’t have children, and I lied to my love, and these things were terrible. I was wrong. I did something wrong. 

My love told me that not having children wasn’t my fault. He thought the church was wrong, and that it wasn’t my fault about our children. He loved me even though I lost three of our babies. He loved me even though our Luke died. 

I’m not sure. Maybe it wasn’t my fault. I know I did the right thing by leaving home. I’m not sure what else I could’ve done to deserve not having children. 

Except lying to my love. Maybe that’s why. I lied to him, so we could never have children together, as much as we wanted to. 

This is my fault. 

 

30 March 1633

I’ve been remembering to drink my tea this past week. It’s amazing how much better it makes me feel, especially considering how hopeless I feel some mornings. 

I feel a bit more ready to talk to Patrik. I want to talk to him, because I don’t have anyone else to talk to and because once we were friends, but he killed my love. He killed my family. 

I need time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for sticking with me for so long :) The end is in sight, relatively speaking. Thank you so much for your comments!


	84. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time passes, and Dianna reflects on some things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, this wasn't quite on time! I lose track of time over breaks. I can't believe how far this has come! Thanks, as always, for sticking with me!

2 April 1633

I might start teaching Meulin to hunt soon. She’s thirteen, and while I was much older than that when I started hunting, I didn’t have to until I was older. I want her to be in good practice when she has no choice, rather than trying desperately to not die of hunger. I want them to have choices. 

I’m a little worried about Nepeta. Meulin wants to be the midwife; it’s something she likes doing. She loves helping me work. Nepeta doesn’t at all. But I need to give her choices, and the only thing I can think to do is teach her to sew so she can be a seamstress like I was. 

I’ll do as much as I can to teach her everything I know about sewing, and embroidering, and all that. She’ll have choices. 

 

5 April 1633

I told Nepeta today that I wanted to teach her to sew better. She said she liked sewing, so that’s something. I didn’t tell her that I need to teach her something so the world can’t beat her down like they did to the women I met, because she’s only nine, but I’m sure she can tell I’m tense about this. They’re clever, my girls. 

I also want to teach them things from books, things like physics and philosophy and mathematics and literature. I loved learning things when I was their age. I still do, even if my motivation these days is nonexistent. 

Well, they stay home and read some days. Meulin loves going into the village, but she’ll bring home friends and they’ll all read together. Nepeta and Equius will also read together in the library. The two of them don’t read quite the same things, being four years apart and all, but they both have their groups of friends. I’m just glad they have friends. 

 

10 April 1633

Ten years ago today I thought we were going to make it. I believed with all my heart that my love was right, and we’d win. We all sat around the kitchen table and planned out what we’d do, and we thought we couldn’t lose. 

We were so stupid. How could we ever have thought the king would listen, if only there were enough people with us? How could we ever have believed that this could end without bloodshed? My love could convince anyone of anything, but I don’t know how he managed to convince himself that this was going to end any other way. 

Simonn knew. Why did he even come with us when he knew how this was going to end? How could he have left me alone like this? 

 

16 April 1633

Simonn thought we’d make it easier for the next generation of people like us. He thought that there’d be someone else like my love. There’s no one like him. He believed this rotten old world was good, and everyone in it was good. He believed I of all people was a good person, and anyone who can believe that is someone special indeed. 

He died ten years ago today. Ten years ago today, I buried him in the clearing, saw his face for the last time. He was so broken, by the end. His eyes were all purple and swollen, and his nose was broken, and his fingers were broken all over like mine. And his leg…my goodness, his leg. It was almost worse than Simonn’s eyes. I don’t know why they cut it off or why or what they did with it, but it was so terrifying to see. 

I miss him. I love him, and sometimes I wish I just had someone to talk to. I think if I had even just one person still with me, I might be alright. Or, at least, I might not feel right on the edge of dying every morning. 

I swore to him I wouldn’t, and now I have my girls. I can’t kill myself. I can’t. 

 

17 April 1633

Yesterday was two years since I found my Meulin in that alley. To think, I was going to die that day. 

 

23 April 1633

Meulin brought over Damara and Horuss today, and my goodness, they look like my old friends. I remember when Damara was born; I was there. I remember Hannah telling me our daughters would be friends and they’d never know we were friends; I remember her (him? I’m not sure now, since I haven’t seen Hannah in so long) telling me our daughters would be important. 

I hope my little girls are important. I want them to lead lives with actual happiness, not the complacent content of living the life the world wants of you. 

On the other hand, I tried to be important, and look where that landed me. 

 

29 April 1633

Nepeta didn’t have a good day today. She woke up quite cross and when I asked her what was wrong, she didn’t answer. Meulin tried to coax her into eating, but she refused, and she just sat in the library rubbing her thumb over the cover of an old book for a long time. 

So I sat on Dolora’s chair, near to her, for a while, until she could talk again. 

“What’s wrong, Nepeta?”

“Bad dream,” she said. 

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

She shook her head. “Mama, do you love me?”

“Of course I do, Nepeta. I love you so much.” 

“And Meulin?”

“I love your sister too.” 

“And you’re not going to send us back to our parents?” 

“Of course not, Nepeta.” I knew she was having nightmares like I used to, of my family leaving me behind for someone or something better. I don’t know why they didn’t, really. Sigmun anyways deserved someone better than me for a wife. 

I didn’t say any of that. Instead I said, soft as I could, “Nepeta, you are very dear to me. My…my mother was not a very nice woman, and so my husband’s mother took care of me. Now, I’m going to take care of you.” 

“I love you, Mama,” she said. 

“I love you too,” I promised. 

 

4 May 1633

It’s getting warm out. It’s too late for that, and I think the harvest will be bad again this year. I’m lucky we’ve never farmed. The garden doesn’t care much about the weather; it’s too small. And with Meulin helping me, it’s in as good shape as when it was Dolora’s. 

I can’t believe I turn thirty-eight this year. I’m getting so old. 

 

10 May 1633

Jane had her baby today, and thank heaven, it went well. I couldn’t handle another failure right now. 

 

15 May 1633

I was awake last night when I heard footsteps in the hall, and I put away the drawings Simonn made when we were young so I could comfort my daughter, but I heard Meulin’s door open instead. 

“Meulin, I can’t sleep.”

“Wanna sleep here tonight, Kitty?”

“Yes.” 

“Alright.

That was all, but I’m worried about them. Meulin wasn’t asleep, and Nepeta couldn’t sleep. I don’t want them to have the nightmares I’ve had my entire life, and I don’t want them to feel the way I did when I was young. But I don’t know how to stop them. I could never control my own nightmares, much less anyone else’s. 

I’ll see if I can mix up a tea for the nightmares. I can test it on myself, and if it works I can offer it to my girls. I suppose I’ll start with chamomile and valerian, and maybe some of the St. John’s wort. 

My goodness, I’m turning into Dolora. Although this time it might be for the better. 

 

23 May 1633

I’ve been trying some various formulations on myself and I think I have a mix that’s working. I have been having fewer nightmares, and I don’t wake up unable to move so often. In March in 1614, the valerian worked decently well, and mixed with the other ingredients, I think it’s helping. 

I can ask my girls if they’re still having nightmares, and if they are, maybe I can give them some of the tea. Maybe with less of the St. John’s wort, though. They are only children, and that’s one of those medicines Dolora mostly gave to adults. 

 

29 May 1633

I asked my girls today if they were having nightmares, separately. They both said yes, so after dinner I brewed up some tea for them and for me, mine with more St. John’s wort (they’re children, after all). I hope they sleep better. I hope this helps. 

 

3 June 1633

It’s been helping them, thank goodness. They both told me they’re having almost no nightmares, and it’s been helping me too. The fewer nightmares, the better. 

It’s probably for the better that my girls don’t know about this sort of thing. I don’t tell them about my nightmares or my melancholy or all the terrible things that brought me here. It’s good that they don’t know these things, and they never will. 

 

10 June 1633

It’s nice when it’s warm out. I’m always cold, so it’s good to be warm on the outside. And my girls love playing outside. Sometimes they’ll stay home and we’ll all sit on the grass in front of the house and make flower crowns. Meulin sometimes complains she’s too old, but she’ll sit and play anyways. They’re like angels, sometimes, sitting there among the flowers. The sun is like a halo, and the light in the dust could be wings. And when the two of them smile up at me, I feel blessed. 

I love my daughters so much. They are just so wonderful. Sometimes, when I go with Meulin and Nepeta to the front of the house and sit with them and make flower crowns and tell stories, I’m not sure how I ever felt melancholy. 

 

18 June 1633

Today would be Simonn’s thirty-eighth birthday. I’m sure by now I’d be teasing him about getting old, and he’d be teasing me right back. Dolora would say how she’s older than both of us, but she’d smile fondly. She’d be in her fifties now! We’d be taking care of her! In a perfect world, we’d have Luke, too, and he’d be…oh, my, sixteen. He’d be getting old enough to have his own job, and maybe he’d be courting someone in town (woman or man, I wouldn’t care if they made him happy). 

I’d never give up my daughters, though. Not for anything. I hope that somehow, I’d still have them. Or they’d still have me. 

 

24 June 1633

I wonder what it’d be like if my love and family were here with my daughters. My goodness, they’d be so loved in this house. I’m not enough but with my first family, I would be. 

I don’t usually bring Meulin with me to births, in case something goes wrong, but I’ll let her help with other parts of my work. When I’m not working or cooking or doing other chores, I teach Nepeta to sew. 

It’s alright, for now. Button seems happy, too. Maybe it’s because I’ve stopped pushing her off when she meows at me late at night. I don’t know where she picked up the concept of bedtime, but she can be awfully insistent about it when she wants to. 

It’s a good thing I have a cat, I think. 

 

30 June 1633

My girls are getting so much taller! I thought Meulin was only ten when I found her, and now she’s tall enough to be sixteen. Nepeta’s a bit shorter, like me, but she’s still growing like mad. Before I know it they’ll be as tall as I am! 

I remember when I was first growing, and I hate so much how I looked. I hope they never feel that way; it’s awful. I want the best for them, and they should be allowed to love themselves. Maybe they can avoid the melancholy that’s been crushing me since I was old enough to understand my mother’s harsh words. 

I hope so.


	85. Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dianna begins a tentative friendship with Patrik, while her daughters continue to grow and make friends.

2 July 1633

It’s so hot. It doesn’t get as warm as it used to, I don’t think, but I’m not sure. I took my girls to the river today to swim, and they had fun. I laughed aloud for the first time in a very long time, and I made my daughters laugh, too. I made silly faces at Nepeta and splashed Meulin and I showed them the tree branch we all used to jump off of, although I did warn them to be careful. I remember the time I almost drowned when my love jumped in. 

My girls wanted to take their friends swimming to, so I said they could as long as they were very careful, because the river could be dangerous. They know where the eddy is, but outside that the current could be dangerous. 

They’ll be alright. I know it. 

 

6 July 1633

I miss my family so much. On the one hand…I feel ready, now, to talk to Patrik. I don’t think I can forgive him, not really and not yet, but I want to talk to him. I don’t have anyone else, and we were friends, once. It might be nice to have a friend again. I have my girls, but I haven’t had a friend in…ten years, now. 

On the other hand, he killed my love. I love Sigmun so much, and for so long. He was so dear to me, and he was doing what was right. We believed in what we were doing, and Patrik killed him for it. He almost killed me for it, too. (Sometimes I wish he had, although on my better days I know that my daughters would be dead or dying if I had died.) He may have let me go, but he stood by while Condesce sold the rest of my family. 

Maybe I’ll write him. I could use a friend. 

 

11 July 1633

Patrik replied to my letter today. I told him I thought perhaps we could talk, among other things, and in his reply he invited me for tea. I think I may invite him here, instead. It will be hard to have my love’s killer in my home, but it will be easier than going to his home. And I can just tell him to leave if I think it may be too much. 

I won’t let my daughters know who he is, I don’t think. I don’t want them to fear him or hate him, because if anything happened to me he’d be one of the first people who would step up to care for them, considering I haven’t spoken with either Hannah’s sisters or Simonn’s siblings in years. Anyways, he might…he might be kind. Perhaps this second chance will be just what he needs. 

 

14 July 1633

Today would be my love’s thirty-eighth birthday. My goodness, I have no idea what sort of gift I would get him. I would want to get him something, and I’m sure he’d tell me my love was all he wanted, but I’d still want to gift him something nice. Maybe a book? He was always ready to devour more history. He was so brilliant. 

I went swimming with my daughters today. I thought it might kill me, but I left the house even though it was pouring rain, and went swimming with my daughters. Meulin said the rain is the best time to go swimming, because you’ll get soaking wet either way, so you might as well enjoy it. She’s so happy, forever looking at things as they could be instead of how they are. Maybe I have been able to pass my love’s belief in good to them. 

 

17 July 1633

Patrik came by for tea today. He knocked on my door at one and I was completely prepared to pull out Dolora’s book, but it was just Patrik, looking nervous and embarrassed. He was staring down at his shoes and had one hand wrapped around his other fist, and when he said hello his voice was small and tight. 

“Hello,” I said. 

“Thank you for inviting me.”

“Come in,” I said, and I went to go make tea. “Black tea with milk?”

“If it’s no trouble,” he said. 

“Of course not.” 

“May I sit?”

“Feel free.” 

He sat very stiffly in a chair at the kitchen table (more stiff than normal, that is) and waited for the tea. When I brought it out and set down the cups, he said, “I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I wish to make it up to you.”

“You can’t,” I said. “No, don’t stop me. You can’t make up for the fact that you killed my love--my husband. There’s nothing that can heal that wound. That’s not why I wrote you. I wrote you because I think that we can be friends in spite of that--because I want to try to forgive you.” 

“Try?”

“Yes, try,” I said. I think the most useful skill I learned when we were traveling was how to act like I can breathe when I can’t, how to act like everything is perfectly fine when it’s not. 

“I am sorry,” he said. “There may be nothing I can do, but I promise you, I have not executed anybody since. I left Her Majesty’s service. I…I told her what she had done was despicable, and I would not be part of it one day more.” 

“That’s good,” I said. 

“I still cannot understand what you tried to do,” he said. “And I will not apologize for not accompanying you.”

“I know you can’t understand why we did what we did. But I hope you can trust that we wanted to make a better world for our children.”

“You wanted to destroy the government which protects us, and take apart the system of royalty and nobility that God ordained.” 

“I wanted to destroy systems that were letting many people suffer for the benefit of the few. I wanted to build a world where people can turn to their society for help, not one where they constantly owe their society.” 

“I simply cannot understand why you are so intent on forcing the royalty and nobility to give up everything they’ve worked for.”

“They haven’t worked for anything. They don’t realize what they’re doing, but the fact is that they’re hurting people. I couldn’t let that go.” 

He frowned. “I will never understand you.” 

“And, frankly, I’ll never understand you. You believe too much in the old ways to ever want to change, but not enough to crush people who want a better life for themselves and their families and children.” 

He went a bit red and said, “Thank you for the tea.” 

“Of course.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said. 

“I think you should leave,” I said. 

He did, without any protest. I just couldn’t stand to hear him talk anymore, propping up a system that’s never done him any good and only refusing to help when he has to kill. 

Maybe we can try again, but I think I need to work up some energy first. It took me months to learn to go into the village. I don’t think I can really bring him around to my way of thinking. What I said is, I think, true--he believes too much in the old system to really rebel, but he doesn’t believe in it enough to keep murdering people because the Condesce told him to. 

 

20 July 1633

My little girls begged me to take them swimming today, and so I did. I took them to the eddy we used to swim in and swam with them, because it really is boiling out, and it just reminded me of the first time I kissed my love. It was just days after I almost drowned, and I remember he pulled me from the river and hugged me close, asking me not to die. 

But I’ve been making new memories in all these places I used to be with my family, and sometimes they don’t make me as sad. Sitting in the library and reading used to make me feel sad and tired, but now there’s some warmth in that because I’ve sat there and read with my daughters. 

 

24 July 1633

I’ve been feeling things. It doesn’t take as much effort, either. It takes work to love my daughters, but not half as much as it did. I don’t know when I first started feeling these things. I don’t know when the numbness eased up just enough for love to be less difficult and happiness to be a possibility. I don’t know what I did. 

I drink my tea, and I talk to my daughters, and sometimes I remember, and somehow this adds up to a lighter mind, and less emptiness. 

Somehow. 

 

29 July 1633

Nepeta brought over Equius today, like she does most days, and it just…he looks so much like his father. He’s a bit young to do to her what Patrik did to me, when he told us he wouldn’t speak to commoners anymore, and I hope he never will. I just worry. He’s Patrik’s son. He must have picked up some of his beliefs, the way my daughters have picked up mine. 

Well, as long as they’re friends, I just hope she’s happy. That’s all I want for my daughters in this life. 

 

1 August 1633

Nepeta’s birthday is in a few days, and she’s very excited. She’s going to be ten--into double digits. I remember when such a thing was exciting to me! I knew Sigmun and Simonn and Dolora when I was ten, and they threw me the little party my mother never did. 

I love throwing my girls their birthday parties. It makes them so happy, and they’re so sweet when they’re happy. I love them. 

 

5 August 1633

Nepeta’s tenth birthday was today. I made her baked apples and good stew, and her friends came over for lunch, and later I gave her a present. I bought her a new pair of shoes, which fit her perfectly and should hold up to the floods and the snow, and a pair of nice wool socks to go with them. She’s a bit young for practical gifts, but I knitted the socks myself with little cats in them, and she thought they were just the cutest. 

So it was a happy birthday. I’m glad I can do these things for her, when she didn’t have them in her old home. She deserves so much better than that. She deserves to be loved, and to have enough. 

I just worry about them. I don’t know what I can do to undo what their parents did. Physically, as far as I can tell, they’re fine; they’ve put on weight in both fat and muscle and they don’t look so pale or sickly. But I worry about their emotional state. They have been having fewer nightmares, as near as I can tell, but still I worry. 

 

9 August 1633

I wrote Patrik again today, inviting him for tea in September. That should give me plenty of time to pull myself together and summon some energy for it. This time, I won’t let him get into his politics, because we will never agree and I can’t stand to keep arguing about it when he can just begin to ignore it all in a way I can’t. He can put the whole discussion behind him and live his life and forget about it, and I have to spend every waking moment acutely aware of both what he and people like him did and could do to me, and everything people think about women and widows and midwives. 

I hope he writes back. I just need to know when he’s coming, so I can be ready. I do want to be his friend, but he killed my love. It’s going to take work. 

 

13 August 1633

Meulin’s birthday is soon. I’m not sure what I’ll get her, either, but I’ll do my best to make it special. She’s turning fourteen! I’ll probably have to teach her about her body and about marriage and all that this year. I need to tell her about her growing chest and her bleeding before it happens, lest she panic. I don’t want her to fear her own body. No child should ever have to feel that way. 

 

15 August 1633

My Meulin turned fourteen today! In just two years I’ll take her out hunting with me. I did consider teaching her younger, but I don’t want her to feel responsible for feeding the family. That’s my job. I’ll teach her to hunt when she’s sixteen, and old enough that a little responsibility won’t overwhelm her. 

For her birthday, I made her little puff pastries with some berries from the garden. She said it was yummy, and I suppose it was. I don’t taste much these days, honestly, so I just try to make things they like. 

 

19 August 1633

I went into the village today to visit the various people I take care of, and they seem to be doing alright. No one’s caught any new illnesses, and the women I see who are pregnant are doing alright. They seem alright, and none of them are showing any of the danger signs I remember: vomiting constantly, bleeding at all, fever, muscle weakness. 

They’re alright. 

Oh, and Patrik wrote me back. He said he can be by September twenty-fourth. It’s a long time. I suppose he’s busy. 

 

22 August 1633

I turned thirty-eight today. My girls remembered! I almost couldn’t believe it. I was all set to let it pass without comment, as I am getting old, but my daughters gave me a lovely bouquet of flowers and wished me a happy birthday. 

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you so much.” 

“Of course, Mama!” Meulin said, hugging me. I love her so much. 

“You’re welcome, Mama,” Nepeta said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, Nepeta,” I said. 

And I do. 

 

26 August 1633

I took Meulin with me today when I did my rounds. About once a week, I go around to everyone I’ve been seeing and check on them, make sure they’re still doing alright. I also find anyone who’s newly pregnant or ill, and check on people who are recovering, and check on women who’ve just given birth and their babies to make sure they’re alright. So today, while Nepeta was at home with her friend Equius, I brought Meulin with me around. I introduced her as my daughter, and said she was my apprentice as well. 

Most people seemed alright with it. When I go, someone else will have to carry on my work, so someone has to learn. And she likes the work, so she ought to learn it. 

When she’s older, I’ll pick some women who’ve had children before and haven’t had problems before and have her tend to them, all the way up to the birth. Not alone, of course, but she’ll take the lead. 

 

31 August 1633

Nepeta’s been practicing sewing most days, thank goodness. I told her that if she has a skill or two to make money with, she’ll never have to marry if she doesn’t want to, and she can afford to marry someone she loves. 

My daughters love romance as much as I did when I was there are. I hope they find someone who makes them as happy as my darling made me. 

 

2 September 1633

The foliage this time of year is gorgeous. I took my daughters on a walk through the woods, along all my old favorite paths. It hurts, sometimes, to walk these paths I used to in happier times. I remember when my love and I would walk together, hand in hand, talking quietly to each other words of love and affection.

It’s fun, doing this with my daughters, but it still aches. 

 

7 September 1633

Meulin didn’t go into the village today; instead she stayed home in the library. I asked her if everything was alright--she always goes outside when it’s warm enough. 

“Meulin, little love, are you alright?”

She frowned and crossed her arms. “Mama, am I…am I a bad person?”

“No, of course, not, little love. Why would you think that?” 

“I don’t know. We don’t go to church all the time and people say the midwife is a witch and that’s you and it’s going to be me, and…and I just don’t know.” 

“Oh, little love,” I said. “God loves you whether or not you go to church. I don’t go to church because I disagree with the reverend there right now, but you can go if you like, and make your own choices. Do you ever pray?”

“Yes.” 

“That’s all you need to do if you want to talk to God.” I’m not sure I believe in God, but if faith brings her peace, I will not deny her that. “And people say the midwife is a witch, that’s true. Who’s said that to you?” 

“Um, I don’t know. I guess…some of the men.” 

“Men say that about the midwife. A woman, or someone with a woman’s body, never would. I’m not doing any magic, little love. I’m just making medicine, like any physician. And sometimes men are angry with me for doing what I do, because they think childbirth is punishment, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop doing it. I know it’s right.” 

“How do you know what’s right?” she asked, nervous. 

“Well…if you’re helping people, and you’re not hurting anyone, and you’re doing the best you can to make the world a better place, then I think you can be pretty assured you’re doing the right thing.” 

She nodded. 

“Can you tell me five things you like about yourself?” 

She smiled a little and said, “Um…I’m good at making friends. I’m smart. I’m helping you! I’m a good sister. And…I can read and write! Your turn.” 

I forgot I taught it to her as a game. “Well, I have two daughters. I’m a decent midwife. I cook decently well. I…I am clever. And I’m loving.” I’ve never described myself as loving before, but I have loved a good few people, and I love them more than I can say. 

She grinned and hugged me and said she was going to go into the village, and so I let her go. I hope she’s feeling better, or more sure of herself at least. 

 

11 September 1633

It’s getting a bit colder out, and soon my girls will be bringing their friends here more often. It’s…it can be a bit stressful, having so many people in the house, so I may have to ask them to sometimes not be in the house, but I can manage sometimes. 

 

16 September 1633

Nepeta has a new friend named Karkat and she came home and said, “Mama, my new friend Karkat’s last name is Vantas. Is he our relative?”

“Well, not by blood,” I said. “Vantas is my married name. My darling may have had brothers; we never knew.” 

“How can you not know if you have a brother?” 

“He was illegitimate, and so his blood mother abandoned him when he was three years old. She or his blood father, neither of whom we ever knew, may have had other children. So he isn’t related to me by blood, and so definitely not to you. Why?” 

“I just wondered,” she said, and she wandered off. 

I can imagine that would be confusing to run into someone with your mother’s family name who’s not part of the family. Well, I just hope if this child is my love’s nephew, he has even half of the amazing qualities my love had. 

 

20 September 1633

Today Meulin met Karkat’s older brother, Kankri. She came home and immediately set to complaining about him. 

“He is so frustrating! He won’t stop talking and he always interrupts me and he’s just…ugh!” 

I couldn’t help but smile. When my darling was fourteen, he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for anything. Simonn and I just interrupted over him until he broke the habit. (He thanked us for it, once we were a bit older.) “Oh, I’m sorry, that’s not funny. He sounds irritating.” 

“He is,” she said. “Isn’t he related to your husband?” 

“He might be,” I said. 

“Well, if your husband was anything like him, I don’t know how you ever liked him.”

“I’m fairly certain they’re a bit different,” I conceded. “How was your day?”

And she told me all about it. 

 

24 September 1633

Patrik was by for tea today, like he said he would be. He apologized for the delay and said he had some serious business to handle. 

“Come in,” I said. “Tea?”

He nodded. 

“I never heard about your wife,” I offered. 

“How do you mean?”

“You must’ve married when I was still living here, because your Horuss is Meulin’s age, and she was born in nineteen. I never heard about her.” 

“We are not close,” he said. “We married in eighteen in a quiet ceremony. Our parents arranged everything. She gave birth to Horuss, and then Equius, and since then we have not spoken much. She often spends time with her friends.”

“What’s her name?” 

“Elizabeth.” 

“She sounds like a nice enough woman.” 

“She is,” he said. “There is no reason for us to be close. We are simply raising our sons together.” 

“Well, then how have you been?” 

“Alright. Yourself?” 

“I’ve been alright. My work is going well.” 

“Your work?”

“My work as the midwife.” 

We didn’t talk about much--just that kind of small talk. It felt alright to sit there with him and two cups of tea and talk about nothing much. It didn’t feel as safe and comfortable as when I sat with my family forever ago and could talk to them about anything, but I didn’t feel like screaming and running and hiding. 

Once he left, I went up to my room and curled up in bed and just missed them all so, so much. Once upon a time, when I hurt like this, I could curl up with my love in this bed and feel safe. Now…it’s just me. 

I have my daughters, but sometimes I just feel so alone. 

 

29 September 1633

Today it was storming terribly, so I taught my girls to make Yorkshire pudding, the wrong way Dolora made it that we all loved. The three of us cooked our supper together all day, and even though we mixed up the Yorkshire pudding the first time we made it, the dinner was delicious. 

It was nice to be home with them and cook together, while the rain and thunder pounded away outside. I love them so much. I want to give them everything I had when I was younger that helped me when things were hard. 

I don’t know how long I might live, because I’m not as strong as I once was. That poison water, and the ways the hurt me, and losing all of them--I’m just not as strong of body as I was when I hunted enough for a village every week. Any little cold might be my end. I just need my daughters to have everything they’ll need, including my love, before I go. That’s what I have to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's amazing to me that four years ago today, I first published this fic. It's just been such a great time, and I want to sincerely thank everyone who's ever read this, in part or in whole. You guys all make this worth doing. These four years have been incredibly formative for me, not the least of which because I've begin to come into myself as a writer; I'm probably going to have an identity crisis when I finish. The end is in sight for this story, believe it or not, and when it's done I'm going to move on to the sequels, and if you follow me there I will much appreciate it. If not, I wish you very well! Thank you so much to all of you. Your comments help me improve and motivate me to write, and I could not be more grateful.


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